DRAGSLAG.ORG

The first time I ever took the stage as Faux King Awesome was a little more than a year ago on the Charlie Horse stage. I have always enjoyed performing since I was a little kid, writing, directing, performing and charging family members to see my silly shows in my grandma’s basement. Later, in college I became obsessed with sensational multimedia performance art, throwing absurdly huge parties with midnight performances at my house in an Orthodox Jewish neighborhood just outside of Detroit. I would inevitably answer the door wearing a suit and tie with no pants to the startled amusement of local police, asking me to get the drunks inside and turn the music down. Neighbors would awake to plastic pigs and flamingos on my roof and front lawn, gobs of food everywhere, other party remnants laying about. But the party was always a success. My goal was to entertain folks. I never wanted them to forget what they saw; I wanted them to remember these parties forever. Showmanship. Realness. Fun.

Charlie Horse embodied the same vigor, imagination and rebellion that my parties did; so it’s no small wonder that after discovering my alter ego I approached Anna Conda to see if she’d let me perform. I said, “I have this idea, I don’t know if it’ll work, but I wanted to know if you’ll let me do it.” Through a cocktail or two Anna told me, “I don’t care if it doesn’t work.”

Low expections? Try NO EXPECTATIONS! That works for me! Not that I wasn’t nervous my first time, but at least it didn’t matter if I failed. I had my foot in the drag door, I did what I loved and people actually thought it was cute. I’ll take cute. Then I continued on, conjuring up all kinds of ideas that I was allowed to realize on that two-pool-tables-together stage. In less than a year Anna gave me my own pre-show, every last Friday. Reverend Awesome’s Tent Revival Show. Wow! I was shocked. I never expected this opportunity, way outta left field you know?

I liked Charlie Horse. I loved it. I “got” it. It’s irreverent, retarded, fierce, insane, just plain awful charm/performances. And I feel beyond lucky to have shared that stage with such amazing performers: those homegrown like myself, and also drag legends, folks from the famed Trannyshack stage, Aunt Charlie’s Lounge, etc. I learned a lot from these folks and I am grateful. They’re all very funny and I have several fond memories hanging out back stage, helping each other get ready, fastening buttons, spraying wigs, touching up makeup, dodging sewage dripping from the ceiling, pissing in the basement, jumping into the cooler after burning it up on stage. I spent some nights pacing in the basement, waiting to go on, others staking out my position at the foot of the stage to engage the performers with my camera. And I always had fun regardless of the performance caliber (some nights were admittedly just bad) and this is what made it great. Realness, a truth in the air, the ability to laugh at yourself.

Post-Trannyshack, Charlie Horse was the last of the old school alternative drag parties that kind of held vast drag factions together. I’m not saying (and I don’t think) that different groups are adversarial, but in the year and I half that I spent clicking picks and roaming about The Cinch I saw just about everyone there, whether they performed or not. This collective memory is important as it will shape the future of what we ALL do going forward. There are civic powers that want to control what we do and where we do it. The developers and corporations have plans for the city, big plans, and the better educated you are about what they are proposing the better. Make sure you do your homework before you vote next time, especially if you voted for Newsom last time. READ THE GUARDIAN EVERY WEEK!!! It’s the best local news. Ask me questions! I love it!

In the end we ALL have to work together to keep what is important to us. I suggest taking more drag to the streets. Hoku Mama and my Tiara Sensation drag family led a hilarious and inspired group of performers through the city last month. And although we were met with threats from authorities at every turn, we still created a visibility that can’t be denied, and laughter and joy that will be the highlight of many vacations of tourists who clicked our pictures and applauded our delightful antics. Why not just have a weekly performance in front of city hall? All you need is a sound system and a dream. Do it guerilla style.

I would like to thank Anna Conda for slinging drag every week for over five years in a dirty Polk Street saloon, and for her courage and tenacity when it comes to voicing herself politically, motivating others to take action as well. Thank you!

Adieu Charlie Horse, Adieu!

Faux King Awesome

The morning of 9/11 was my day off. I was sleeping in late after a night up late. My phone kept ringing all morning, so naturally I ignored it.  Finally when I couldn’t sleep any longer I got up and checked my voicemail.  ”Turn on CNN! They’re flying planes into the World Trade Center!” Great.

They closed all the malls in the Detroit Metro Area; flights were grounded, everything was canceled. At the time I was working for Pacific Sunwear and my two managers came over to my house because of the mall shutdown. We watched the world fall apart all afternoon. Later that night my boss and I went to a local gay dive bar called the Male Box. We drank a bit, bitched about how stupid Americans are, shot some pool, drank some more, and then I think I ended up sleeping with him. I quit shortly after. A few days later my best friend videotaped me ranting about American Imperialism in his living room. Some would have thought I was insensitive, unpatriotic at the time, but in the end I was right.

Flash forward eight years, living in SF where Michael Jackson jokes popped up like toast before the body was cold, I have found myself surrounded by kindred spirits. No less than two drag nights have not only celebrated the 9/11 attacks, but infused them with the innocence of the mentally challenged to soften the blow. Downey hosted a 9/12 drag night at Charlie Horse last year and this year Tiara Sensation hosted a 9/11 in July party.

Speaking of insensitivity, the Cinch, hosted by Lucy Borden, was alit with blood and gore on 7-Ten (just pretend it was 7-Eleven) celebrating the 2nd annual Bloodbath at the 7-Eleven drag show. Performers are encouraged to terrorize guests with sprays, explosions and gurgles of fake blood. These antics left the stage a frightful mess by the end of the night, only bolstered by Lucy’s amazing backdrop featuring the aftermath of a brutal and horrific shootout near the Slurpee machine.

All these bombing dates are a conspiracy theorist’s wet dream, but trannies and drag queens naturally seize it as an opportunity to make you uncomfortable yet happy.  And let’s not forget that the London Tube Bombings took place on 7-Seven. The Madrid bombings occurred on 3-Eleven. The theme nights are endless here folks. Again drag folks make lemonade outta lemons, albiet, to the dismay and horror of millions.

I remember when my brother and his best friend went to go see WrestleMania III at the Pontiac Silverdome in 1987.  At the time the WWF (now WWE) was at its peak.  Hulk Hogan, Rowdy Roddy Piper, Superfly Jimmy Snuka, Andre the Giant, Hacksaw Jim Duggan, these guys were amazing in the ring, and while I was like totally in love with Bret “The Hitman” Hart it was the ladies of the WWF that always got my attention. They made the whole thing seem legit. I’d get so excited when The Fabulous (and Trashy) Moolah, Wendi Richter and, of course, Cyndi Lauper would come stomping down the aisle, fists raised in the air, toward the ring… and I swear I saw Captain Lou Albano showing thousands how to give a self-breast exam at the dyke march last year, so I guess he’s a gorgeous lady of wresting, too.

G.L.O.P. – The Gorgeous Ladies of Polk was the brainchild of Anna Conda who, after being attacked on stage at Charlie Horse by an unruly person, did a video search of the taped attack on YouTube and found female wrestling listed as suggested viewing. Genius. The result was a sensational night of body slams, raging estrogen and spandex. All this lemonade from just one lemon.

The Marcy Playground Minute opened the show at 11pm. Marcy brought a dart-shooting gun on stage, taking dead-eye-in-a-drunken-haze aim at some innocent confetti-filled balloons. There was a moment when I thought I might lose an eye or get a dart in the neck, but I persevered at the foot of the stage.

 

 

Anna Conda started the Charlie Horse Show punching and mugging to a song about “female mud wrestling.”  She had the whole place singing along.  It was great!  And her titties looked great in that tiger print bathingsuit with fringed-trimmed elbow-length gloves and blond afro. Sick!

 

 

 

No wrestling night would be complete without the special (limited due to challenges) talents of Downey.  Downey busted up onto the stage with the coolest mask I’ve ever seen (is that a shopping bag?), plus a friend with which to wrestle to Chumbawamba’s “Tubthumping (I Get Knocked Down).” Pretty much every time they sing “I get knocked down” either Downey, his pal or both would suddenly fall to the stage. A few times I heard Downey actually scream “Ahhhhhhhh!” before hitting the stage.

 

 

 

 

Pristine Condition followed next in a fringed teal dress with matching mask makeup. If any measure of the success of a wrestler is based on pure entertainment and showmanship, then Pristine could have a career in eating cum from old condoms. What follows is a photo essay as to what occurred. I’m nearly speechless…

 

 

 

 

 

 

Anna Warhola entered the ring singing “Sweet Transvestite” from the Rocky Horror Picture Show. It was actually refreshing to hear this song done in this context. Anna sported her red devil’s tail, baseball bat and Indiana Jones whip, beating and cracking that shit all over the place. The audience even participated during the “SAY IT SAY IT!” anticipation line of the song. Amazing!

 

 

At this point in the show I was so overwhelmed from the courage and shear magic of the G.L.O.P. that was practically raining down upon us that I didn’t think it could get any gloppier.  But then Donna Personna took to the stage!  At first I thought The Fabulous Moolah had risen from the grave.  Donna came out all gangbusters and did not stop until the number was over.  High kicks, grunts, fist punches, mugging and dingleberry cherries, her performance rocked!  

 

 

 

 

 

This night was magical, absolutely one of my favorites.  The ladies lit up the stage like we haven’t seen in a while with action, body slams, jizz shots, etc. It was really something else!  Funny that all this mayhem would not have been possible if that chick hadn’t snatched Anna’s wig that fateful night.  Maybe it was the spirit of The Fabulous Moolah or just meant to be.

My favorite drag night of the year is when all the gorgeous plus size, full-figured ladies fill the stage with their presence, giving you twice as much to love. Trans Fat Night at Charlie Horse showcases some of SF’s finest plump and vivacious ladies bringing down the house. Who knew that getting so much would leave you wanting more!

Anna Conda opened the show with an off-topic number (appropriate since she’s so skinny), but it was a great way to start the show following our third Take Back the Polk March. About two dozen pissed off and determined folks marched from The Cinch to the Supreme Court of California to protest their decision to uphold Prop 8’s injustices. With sacks of doo doo wrapped up in designer shopping bags in tow, we chanted for 13 blocks, grabbing the attention of passersby and the occasional police car.

 

 

Holy McGrail needed the help of a big strong man (and some bolt cutters) to get her buttons undone, revealing some clever and tantalizing pasties.

Mutha Chucka busted out the corn dogs for her number, mowing on them, teasing the audience with them, and all in the name of equal rights! Her number had a political edge to it in honor of the march.

 

Lady Bear, Joie de Vivre, Marcy Playground and Miss Nix bring their extra-caloric realness to the Trans Fat stage.

 

 

 

Hoku Mama Swamp closed the show with an updated version of “Pour Some Sugar on Me.” Mama treats the audience to some random radio play before drowning herself in milk, chocolate sauce, marshmallows and a box of sugar over an inflatable kiddie pool. The crowd went ape shit when she kicked the pool to the side as the sugar came falling down over her body. Rich. 

 

 

This was a wonderful way to end a night full of big beauties and their outrageous talents.  As always, looking forward to next year.

Beige. Zzzzzzzzzz… Oh, sorry, but come on, BEIGE?! What kind of theme is this?!?! And how the fuck is it supposed to work? Beige reminds me of the late 70’s, very early 80’s when I was wearing plaid bell bottoms and my folks were choosing horrid beige wallpaper for the bathroom and beige furniture for the living room. My dad even bought a champaign colored (beige) Chevy Cavalier to match his fabulous beige Members Only jacket. I grew up with beige and thought that I left it behind when I moved to San Francisco. But it found me.

Anna Conda served up a delicious slice of taupeness, hosting the show in a glamorously snoozy polyester pant suit that just screamed key party.

Her performance was a bit less subdued, featuring a tan trench over a beige body suit sporting a giant dirty blonde patch of crotch bush that could be seen from space. Hilare! And gross.

More queens turned out to perform on Beige Night than on Impostors Night the week before… almost twice as many! And with a theme like beige, you really have to bring it to make it interesting.

VivvyAnne Forevermore powdered her face red and blue, striking it with a magic marker, creating long bottom lashes. Hmmm… this seems familiar. Is that Hoku Mama Swamp?! Vivs was cleverly plugging Tiara Sensation’s Hoku’s Drag Race Night, encouraging people to VOTE HOKU! Well I say VOTE SWAMP!

Eli poses with Hoku before the show…

Viv’s marker got a lot of attention throughout the show…

The show continued with two fabulous ladies visiting us from Aunt Charlie’s in the Tenderloin. Bonnie Sawyer, missing teeth and all, snapped up dollar bills, singing a twangy country number. Donna Personna ripped up with stage to La Bouche’s “Be My Lover.” After the show I told her that that song took me back… to 1994! Good times. I think both of these queens misunderstood the assignment, neither dressing in a stitch of beige, but I guess that’s how they do things down in the TL. Work.

Lil Miss Hot Mess sang “Little Boxes,” painting brightly colored paper houses with beige paint. I thought the song choice was perfect for her. The number was cute, especially when she gave up painting and just started squirting paint all over the houses.

I can’t even remember what Dam Dyke did or sang cuz I was so intrigued by her beige outfit and cup of beige coffee. It struck me as funny that coffee is beige, too. Everything was the same shade of beige. You know beige beige. And I’m hella jel over those shimmery Hollywood Montrose shades!

Miss Nix, seeming to serenade DJ Dirty Knees throughout her performance, worked the golden beige.

Anna Warhola busted out the baseball bat and whip after Downey snatched her wig off her head. She cracked the whip a few times, freaking me out as usual. My brother whipped me in the face with a rubber snake when I was a kid; I have latent trauma. I love the outtie!

Liza with a P, who stole the show for Liz Taylor Night, dazzled audiences in a two-tone beige dress. Her dancing and mugging made for a great performance.

Glamamore brought the Morrissey (can you say ba-eige?), being boring throughout the entire song with boots up on VivvyAnne Forevermore’s hips. Their exchanges were hilarious. Hold my drink! Fierce.

Little Opalteen strutted her stuff next, giving great drag face. She dubbed in farts over the delightful soundtrack, hovering over a small fan each time which blew her skirt up. Classy.

Finally, Karen Kills blew the stage up with Coco Puffs and a half gallon of milk which she had dumped over her body. This to screams of “I’m lactose intolerant!” from an audience member. The best part was that Karen’s outfit absorbed a lot of the milk which occasionally dripped from her titty like a lactating breast. I was deeply amused.

And let’s not forget Marcy Playground’s “performance” at the foot of the stage. Beigelessness.

Beige, taupe, tan, khaki and camel. So many varieties of boring to exploit. Overall I think these folks did a great job handling the beige challenge. I’m curious as to what color Anna will choose next year. I’m a fan of chartreuse myself.

Mimicking another queen’s best known performances can be risky, perhaps dangerous if you fuck it up while said queen is nearby with weapon (stiletto, broken bottle, hairspray and lighter, etc.) and a mob of angry groupies. But on one special night of the year a drag queen can impersonate another, for better or worse, sometimes wearing the exact outfit, wig and makeup, and get away with it. That said, if imitation is the highest form of flattery, then Impostors Night at Charlie Horse surely must be the worst… in the trashiest way possible.

Everyone was in great spirits Friday night, anticipating performances from some of our favorites: Chucka, Ferosha, Raya, Playground, Downey, Lady Bear, and Monistat… oh wait… that’s effen Glamamore!  

Anna Conda started off the show cutting a deep one into San Francisco elite socialite tranny, Donna Sachet.  Singing a live parody about herself and making ill-favored comments had me cracking the fuck up. Fierce bangs! I loved it!

 

Even VivvyAnne Forevermore got into the mix with the best non-performance performance as Marcy Playground, leaning stage side, digging into purse, smoking bowl, fixing hair and makeup, getting tee-rashed. Hilare!

   

The best part about Impostors Night for me was being able to have two drag queens in one… 2-4-1, just like the well drink offer between 10 and 11. Yes, plug.

Here’s the breakdown:

Mutha Chucka : I’m pretty sure was Miss Nix, can’t ‘member. I’ll get read for this one. Sorry Chucka (and Nix). ***UPDATE: Chucka told me it was Glamamore. I suck.

Ferosha Titties : Suppositori Spelling

Raya Light : Alexis the Waitress

Downey : Mutha Chucka

Lady Bear : Mercy Faque

Glamamore : Monistat

Highlights include:  Mutha Chucka’s onstage tantrum that resembled a scary frizzed out Bad Seed/Janis Joplin/Stevie Nicks. Ferosha’s retractable brassiere cigarette lighter, scowling fuck you attitude and insane screaming.  Marcy Playground’s drunken dancing with a stuffed snake, resembling a Sister of Perpetual Indulgence… I was deeply confused, but entertained.

    

Raya’s creepy, all too real impersonation/anger mismanagement breakdown of Alexis and subsequent random, but funny, self-flagellation of mustard and strawberry jam.

  

Downey’s resemblance to Mutha Chucka was uncanny; numerous times throughout the night I would catch him in the corner of my eye thinking, oh, there’s Chucka! The best part about the number was that it looked like Chucka but felt like Downey… started messing with my brain.

 

Lady Bear’s rendition of Mercy’s “Top of the World” was priceless. I wish Mercy could have been there (enjoy the pics)… this rare gem of a song just repeats over and over in a boozy helium-fed voice, “I’m at the top of the world, I’m so happy. The tippy top of the world…etc.”  I lost my shit when she goes “I’m at the tippy tippy tippy tippy tippy tippy tippy top of the world…” Lady Bear did not disappoint and I can’t wait to see Mercy’s version.

  

Finally, Glamastat, er, I mean Monimore… Glamamore (my granny) struts onto stage to Siouxsie and the Banshees’ “Hong Kong Garden” with a cheap Chinatown fan and a carton of takeout rice. Her performance included snubbing an offer for a dollar, mugging and other fierceness which were followed by the devouring of the entire carton of rice… with chop sticks.

   

After the show I spoke with Monistat to see what she thought of legendary drag queen Glamamore’s performance. She told me that she felt like she’d arrived.

 

Knowing these queens made the show that much more enjoyable for me, but I could tell that my fellow audience members, whether they are drag hags or not, enjoyed it just as much. Good times!

Related articles by Zemanta

• Congratulations to this Year’s Best of San Francisco Winners (sfist.com)

Having low expectations can save you from a lifetime of disappointment, but it often makes you feel like an asshole when some things actually impress the pants off of you. This is Fresno.  

Leaving the gravitational pull of the city, passing through the windmills near Livermore, your mind tends to drift.  Overwhelmed with a sense of adventure, you really appreciate yourself and your fellow travelers… or was it because some tranny train-wreck spilled poppers in the back of the van?

We came upon a rest stop in the middle of Nowhere, CA.  Startling other motorists and truckers which allowed us to have the run of the place.  Although our rest was brief we managed to get some laughs, pics and a tranny march around the toilets to mark our territory (tranny-tory).

 

After traveling for another hour the stench of poppers and nail polish dissipated (this made driving very difficult) so we decided to stop and eat.  Passing Los Baños, an oasis consisting of a Wal-Mart, car dealerships, dead strip malls, Denny’s and string of fast food joints, we pulled into a sprawling parking lot, unloaded and brought drag realness to the locals.  They reacted as if they saw this shit everyday. So we acted accordingly. Nothing makes a Grand Slam with your choice of meat or Moons Over My Hammy go down quite so well as a fruit fizzy and klonopin. Delish.

Arriving at The Den in Fresno was amazing.  Belmont Avenue is strewn with hookers, tranny hookers, pimps, johns, speed addicts, winos, hoochie mamas and homophobic cops.  I felt like I was back in Detroit on McNichols and Woodward. Good times. Realness!

 

 

 

Cisco and Terry, our gracious and generous hosts, made sure that everything went smooth, from club to afterhours to brunch the next morning. And what a booze/tranny chaser selection at the afterhours! Thank you guys!

 

 

Charlie Horse would not be complete without Juanita Fajita’s taco truck.  Bringing fresh meats and cheeses from San Francisco, Fajita starts crockpotting early in the evening to kill any potential swine flu that may have tainted the food.  This is the way they prepare tacos in her native land of Guadalajara, Oregon.  It’s a shame most of the nacho cheese ended up on the floor of the van, then subsequently on the blacktop of the Best Western parking lot.

 

Splat!

The evening at The Den continued…

 

The performances were stellar.  The whole gang of misfits brought it, showing Fresno and ourselves just how special and fucked up we really are…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We cleaned up, packed up and got kicked out of The Den at closing time.  But I was able to get a quick shot of some local gay culture…

 

After the show we all piled into our vehicles and caravaned to Cisco and Terry’s place for a wonderful afterparty filled with liquor and tranny chasers…

 

 

The trip was amazing and eye-opening.  We saw tranny chaser realness, and found fans in the valley.  We found ourselves to be fonts of inspiration for those of the ‘No.  Looking forward to coming back in October, don’t forget to bring poppers.