Feeding my obsession for everything Brokeback/rural west related, I went to a ranch nearby me for an afternoon of horseback riding. I have so romanticized this obsession of mine that I just couldn't wait to be in Ennis' environment.
Well, not all "cowboys" are Ennis and Jack. Yeah, they smoke but they chew and spit and are missing teeth. I'm glad I had this experience before I packed up my Honda CR-V and moved to Wyoming. 
And my ass hurts.
I know this is meant to be funny, and I appreciate the humor, Roux, but I do think that many of us need a dose of reality with our romanticized versions of Ennis and Jack (or whatever cowboy, lobster fisherman or whoever else we may be fantasizing).
I live in Maine, a state that is often described as having "two Maines," roughly divided by an interstate (in one direction) and a line of latitude (in the other). In "my" Maine we are happy being Maine hippies, wearing Birkenstocks and clothes from LL Bean, going hiking, canoeing, and kayaking, and basically living life "the way life shoud be" according to our tourist slogan.
Then there is the other Maine, where people do not have health insurance and there are not enough dentists; where, in a family, graduating from HS is an accomplishment and no one has ever gone to college; hunting is not done just for sport, it is the way you put something in the freezer to have food for the winter; and then the darker side...abuse, alcoholism, suicide...
I grew up in the suburbs of New York City. I moved to Maine 26 years ago (after stints in Baltimore and Chicago) and I have basically created a suburban experience here. Yes, "suburban" Maine is way more rural than Long Island, NY, but all in all, I live 6 miles from downtown Portland, I have every modern convenience known to personhood, and we are waging a huge campaign in my small (suburban) town to keep a big box store from building a supercenter.
I don't have to go far to see the other Maine, though. I volunteer at a Free Clinic here in Portland and tonight I cared for a lobster fisherman (the Maine equivalent of a cowboy). Sweet man, handsome in his way, but reeking of cigarettes and missing a few teeth. I do think that we need to re-evaluate our Hollywood hunkiness of Heath and Jake and try to remember the real Ennis and Jack and what they were up against. Sometimes, I get frustrated in discussions about the movie/story, and think (believe) that people are using the wrong picture frame.
Not to say you shouldn't try riding.
L
