Gay Rodeo Ain't for Sissies

My first reaction to the 2006 LA Gay Rodeo was: Are you JOKING, GAY PEOPLE! It's an election year! Aren't you already dealing with enough bull*%#? (Or should I say guacamole? Guacamoled is rodeospeak for when a dim-witted cow craps itself all over you, as in Ann Coulter just guacamoled me.)

It wasn't until I'd seen my third or fourth guacamoled cowperson at the rodeo that it finally dawned on me: Guacamole is a big reason gay rodeoers dig gay rodeo—and I'm not talking some weird fetish, here. I'm saying that, like pretty much anyone, gay rodeoers prefer not to be guacamoled. But at least when it happens at gay rodeo, they know it's not because of their sexual orientation.

Neither is a good stomping or goring or trampling. Livestock just doesn't discriminate. And neither does gay rodeo. Everyone's welcome there—gay, straight, undeclared. Anyone can come get his or her ass kicked. Or watch while someone else does.

Gay rodeo is about inclusiveness…and spangled chaps, and tight jeans, and Marlboro man mustaches, and Stetsons, and studded shirts, and studs and fillies—in other words, it's just like regular rodeo except the studs are more cut and maybe a tad cattier about it. And the cowgirls ride bulls if they want. Oh…and the dancing. Dancing is maybe as big a gay rodeo draw as gay rodeoin'.

In fact, participation in gay rodeo seems pretty evenly split between real rodeoin' and serious dancin'. I'm told many come specifically for the dancing, which goes on all day, into the night, and does sort of differentiate it from traditional rodeo where you won't likely see a lot of same-sex couples two-stepping to Christina Aguilera.

As far as pure gay rodeoin' goes, the participants seem fairly well divided between city slickers and country boys and girls—many of whom grew up rodeoin' but left when they no longer felt welcome in historically macho rodeo culture.

Which isn't to say gay rodeo is for sissies. It's anything but. A cowboy named Doug Graff broke his pelvis while steer riding. I watched the whole thing and never saw him cry. I'd have been bawling like a baby.

That's the nice thing about gay rodeo: You're still welcome even if you are a sissy. I mean, they let me in and no way in hell are you catching me trying to ride a bull or bucking bronc or even trying to put a pair of tighty-whities on a goat. And if you do, it won't be because I'm suddenly less of a sissy. It will simply mean that I've gone completely crazy. That, or gay rodeo curious…

[You can find plenty of actual information on gay rodeoin' and events (which have been for charity since gay rodeo's inception) by going to the International Gay Rodeo Association's site at igra.com and surfing from there.]