Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Introducing the "EnsemBLAH!"

Short wigs, off-the-rack strip-mall fashions, sensible shoes and prescription glasses...
Preparing for the now infamous and wildly popular
"High Fructose Corn Syrup" parody.
"Hag Drag" is nothing new. A queen dressing like a total mess who, if she waltzed in and asked, "Be honest, what does this outfit say to you?" the only reasonable answer would be: "YOU DON'T HAVE A MIRROR IN YOUR BEDROOM!?"

As lead singer of the rock band VAN PALIN.
We, of course, rewrote Van Halen songs
to make them more wholesome and Republican.
"Rock out with your cross out!"

But -- and as you know, mine is a HUGE butt -- can you ride that fine line between hideous creature and haute couture? Can you serve up "Glamour Grandma," "Librarian Looker" or that oh-so-elusive "Cunty Clown?" It's difficult, but not impossible. Here are a few of my favorite looks that could possibly be misconstrued (look it up!) as "boring" but will no-doubt have people "boring" holes in you as they stare, slack-jawed in a trance!

Never underestimate the subtle power
of an apron and a home perm. Backstage
with the uber-talented Drew Droege
Please do not confuse this with "Hag Drag," or old-fashioned San Fransissy "Gender Fuck" (throwing glitter into one's beard does not constitute "drag"!) or what my dear friend, the incomparable Jimmy James (performing at Casita del Campo on April 8 & 9) lovingly refers to as "Booger Drag." Oh no, darling!  These are "EnsemBLAHS" my dear... Cougars and matrons and MILFS, oh my!


Zaftig Jewess finding her light!
Who cares if it's the interior dome
light of a 2002 Pontiac Grand Am!?
Girl's Night Out! Because teaching "Black
Studies" at the community college
can be stressful and she deserves to blow
off some steam at Happy Hour, goddamnit!
It's a great time to be silver... and gold!
Anyone can rock The '80s...
but can you rock a gal in her eighties!?
Smart is sexy...  So go fuck a scientist!


Giving Bea Arthur realness as Trixie in
"Gingerdead Man 3: Saturday Night Cleaver"
Celebrating my birthday recently at Hamburger Mary's.
Laugh all you want, but I did get a senior discount!
You may think I look ancient, but check it out...
I got several "pearl necklaces" that night!
I call this look, "One foot in the grave
and the other on a banana peel!"


Serving up Southwestern New-Age White Trash...
You just know she has a dream-catcher air freshener hanging
from the rearview mirror of her teal PT Cruiser!
Tears of a clown: Is the circus is in town?
Nope, it's just me, Bozo Beat!
Honk honk! This is a look most people might
try maybe once in a lifetime, but not me...
Laughter is the best medicine and
I can practically cure cancer, biotch!

Tuesday, March 29, 2011


Shangela: True talent will always triumph over tarnished tinsel!

I have been doing drag for over twenty years.  I am what they call a "legend" -- which sounds rather lofty, but actually just means, "Wow! She's still alive!?" I have been in countless TV, film and theatrical projects -- working with people like Robert DeNiro, Philip Seymour Hoffman and Parker Posey. I have toured this fine country as the opening act for comedy icon Roseanne Barr. I have been lucky enough to have performed in Milan, Berlin and even Saskatoon, Canada! I've wowed unsuspecting audiences on cruise ships, at clothing-optional gay campgrounds in rural Georgia and even at a Sweet 16 party where I opened for T-Pain (seriously!). I also started a rock band, Dirty Sanchez, that landed a record deal, had a song featured on the campiest soap opera of all time ("Passions") and toured with My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult. Oh, and did I mention that I am a card-carrying member of the Writers Guild of America who has written TV, short films, countless magazine articles and/or interviews and material for the likes of Roseanne Barr, Rosie O'Donnell, Ross Mathews, Jennifer Coolidge, Patricia Arquette and more?  I'm not quite Bruce Vilanch, but honey, who is?

My point is this: When I give my two cents on anything drag-related, y'all better listen up because this bitch knows a thing or two -- or three!

As you may or may not know, the performer known as Shangela was told to "sashay away" on last night's episode of "RuPaul's Drag Race." I guess "sashay away" sounds better than "Get the fuck out, bitch!" and besides, that doesn't really go with Ru's "everybody say 'love'" shtick.  But I digress...

Yes, sassy and spunky Miss Shangela was kindly asked to pack up her wigs and frilly undergarments and hit the road. Now there are many people out there -- and quite a few on the show -- who do not seem to like Shangie (I made that up!) for many reasons. Most are surface-level things like she can't do her makeup very well, she can't style a wig to save her life or she cannot create a one-of-a-kind haute couture masterpiece out of office supplies or some other total bullshit that NEVER happens in real life! All of this may be true, but you know what Shangie (hmmm, does it work or not?) CAN do? She can get on stage and be funny and ENTERTAIN the crowd by doing more than just moving her motherfucking lips! She is a naturally entertaining person who can think on her feet and ENTERTAIN a crowd. Does she look like a supermodel? Perhaps not, but neither do I!

Fellow "Drag Race" contestant, Carmen Carrera aka "The Yawn", claimed that being beautiful was the most important thing about doing drag, and that the rest could be learned. To this I shout, "Bullshit!" It's the opposite, honey! Anyone can learn how to apply makeup. Twenty years ago my makeup was HORRIFIC (we are talking Sharpie eyebrows that could not be washed off -- and no, I am NOT joking!) and now I am famous for my sick motherfucking makeup, thankyouverymuch! And I do not do my own wigs -- no drag queens I know, including RuPaul, do their own wigs! I know it's complicated, but here's what you do: You walk into a wig store, pull out money and hand it to an Asian lady (or old school sistah, if you're lucky!) and they style the wig for you!  See how that works?

What you cannot learn is how to be a NATURALLY entertaining person who has a point of view. Models and porn stars should never do interviews -- who cares what they have to say? Just walk the runway while pouting or whip out your impressive manhood and grunt, "Suck it." And I feel the same way about most drag queens. I, on the other hand (and you had better believe there are gorgeous nails on that hand, honey!), am an ENTERTAINER! I am a naturally funny person who is as charming and amusing while grocery shopping as I am on stage. My life is a show! That doesn't mean I am always "on" or bouncing off the walls, mind you. Jackie Beat is the glamorous -- and sometimes really retarded -- heightened version of the real me. I mean, people are paying good money -- give them something they can't get anywhere else, right? But if all you can give them is cunty couture and bitchy beauty then you may as well be a still photograph: Glossy but flat. And who wants to look at that for more than just a few minutes?

If, within the first 30 seconds of my show, the electricity were to go out and there were no lights and no music, I might have a moment of panic, but you know what? After doing this as long as I have I can honestly say that I would take a deep breath, light a candle and do a show! I would do stand-up comedy, tell stories, sing acapella and venture into the audience to humiliate, er uh, I mean to TALK to people! And I honestly believe that Shangela (Shangie never really caught on, sorry) could do the same. The show must go on. Besides, I ain't giving those people their money back... Puh-lease!

So Shangela, keep your head up and please know that the most interesting performers NEVER win these competition reality shows. I have two words for you: Adam Lambert.


I am Jackie Beat, and I approve this message!

Tuesday, March 22, 2011



Despite my recent diatribe to the contrary (see the post entitled "OH-BITCH-UARY!"), I am very pleased to announce that the oh-so-enjoyable and affordable hobby of thrift store shopping is still very much alive and well!

I would like to share with you a few amazing (or "amaze-balls" as the kids these days would so sassily say!) thrift store finds I stumbled onto today at a small, unassuming little treasure shack that shall remain nameless -- in a suburb of Los Angeles, the name of which I also shan't ever utter aloud or even type for fear the hipsters, fashion fags and retro gals would descend like ravenous vultures snatching up all my vintage booty like so much carrion.  And speaking of carrion, let's carry on, shall we?

Here are the veritable treasures I plundered from the past today...

Vintage Hawaiiana souvenir pinochle cards in plastic box, $1

Vintage terry cloth apron with lemons and daisies, $3

4 beautiful vintage silk bow ties, $1 each

Mint condition white vinyl ice bucket with clear acrylic handle and lid knob, $3

Stunning goldtone vintage cufflinks: One pair with sailfish/swordfish & onyx and one pair with very unique, space-age looking chartreuse gemstone, $2.50 each

Vintage ashtray from now-defunct Hollywood Golden age hotspot Perino's, $2

And then, at a Goodwill of all places, I found these...
Vintage Mid-Century teak salt & pepper shakers (approx 7" tall), $3.19

Monday, March 21, 2011


"We have so much in common... We both love cock!"

I have written before about the time-tested “special” relationship between gay men and straight women. Think about it, some of the most delightful couples throughout history have consisted of a breeder babe and her favorite fag friend. Imagine the world without dynamic duos such as Harper Lee (okay, maybe not so straight?) and Truman Capote, Doris Day and Rock Hudson or Liza Minnelli and any one of her flaming husbands.
"Don't worry, Truman... I'm butch enough for BOTH of us!"

And of course, as is often the case with commitment-phobic homosexuals, most of these fabulous friendships have been treated with all the reverence and respect that one might bestow upon a particularly pleasing one-night stand. Sure it’s fun, but let’s just keep it casual, okay? Well, I think that it’s time to change all that and -- dare I say it? Yes, it’s time to get "Mary’d"!

"But mama, he dresses and dances so well!"

Getting “Mary’d”, as one might assume from its rather creative spelling, is much different that getting “married.” The latter is, in my humble opinion, an antiquated and obsolete institution, the right to which we gays should NOT be wasting our precious time fighting for. It is my belief that as gays, we are actually more evolved and should therefore recognize that a lifelong partnership between any two people -- gay or straight, romantic or platonic  -- is simply unnatural. I mean, have we learned nothing from watching umpteen seasons of “The Bachelor,” the E! True Hollywood Stories of, ahem, passionate people such as Elizabeth Taylor and Tiger Woods, and Wham’s “Behind The Music”? Yep, getting "Mary’d" just makes much more sense!

Wake me up before you go-go become a huge-huge success?
Getting "Mary’d" means making a public declaration to that special lady in your life. You know the one -- the gal with whom you go to lunch, talking about everything -- life and love, movies and music -- over soup and salad. The one who will tell you all about her husband’s penis in exchange for juicy details on your last sexual exploit and/or sold out show. Day trips, shopping sprees, movie nights, theater excursions, midnight phone calls. But it’s not all fun and games. Oh no. It’s also sharing tears and fears, and visits to the hospital -- both human and animal. It’s not just that wonderful catty cocktail of bitchiness and judgment, but also that soothing elixir made of equal parts warm, reassuring hugs and silent, knowing nods.
The one and only Muffy Bolding!
So, I know what you must be thinking to yourself right about now. Do I have a special lady in my life? Well, the answer is a resounding yes! Her name is Muffy and she’s very smart and very funny. She calls me her “gusband” (gay husband) and I call her my “slusband” (straight lady husband). Yes, we are very happy together. She is not what one used to refer to as a “fag hag” -- a miserable, unmarried drunky/chunky mess of a girl with no life of her own. Muffy has a real husband, three adorable children and two even more adorable dogs (sorry, but you know I like dogs better than people). But more importantly she has me! Oh, I’m sure she could watch “The Boys in the Band” with her real-life, vagina-craving hubby, but would they pause the DVD and scream in delight at the amazing paisley wallpaper or rewind it to hear wonderfully acidic lines of dialogue like, “Go stick your tweezers in your cheek!” and “Who is she? Who was she? Who does she hope to be?” No. You see, Bruce Willis is not in “The Boys in the Band.” Now this is not to say Muffy’s real husband is some tasteless oaf who survives merely on a steady diet of pork rinds and pro wrestling -- quite the contrary, actually -- he just ain’t a queen, that’s all!
Selene Luna always makes me feel TEN FEET TALL!
And the ultimate beauty of getting "Mary’d" is that, like most romantic relationships we filthy rule-breaking sodomites enjoy, it is “open!” In other words, I am free to also “hook up” with these other fine pieces of sass I just happen to be seeing on the side, named Selene and Nadya. Hey sometimes we get real wild and get into a “group scene” -- all three of those hot broads and myself will get together and crack jokes and laugh and, trust me, they all go home feeling VERY satisfied!
Nadya GInsburg: Half Italian, half Jew -- ALL WOMAN!
You see, when it comes to friendship and fun  there’s MORE than enough Jackie to go around!

And by the way, here are a few of the other sexy broads I am "involved" with... (In alphabetical order, so no one feels slighted!)
My gorgeous glamazon, Calpernia Addams!
Earless and fearless, former Mouseketeer and current triple threat, Lindsey Alley!
She's got Bette Davis eyes: The amazing Miss Jonona Amor!
The Double-D-lightful "World Famous BOB"!
Jealous?  You should be!

Sunday, March 13, 2011


"Stop beating on his chest -- it's no use, he's gone!  I'm calling the time of death at...
(Looks at wristwatch)
4:12 PM.
(Bows head in silence, then suddenly looks towards the heavens and yells with anger)
Why this one?  WHY!?"
"I'm very sorry for your loss..."
The sad scenario above took place yesterday afternoon when one of my very best friends -- at whose place I used to spend a lot of my free time -- "passed." This friend's name was Vincent and he was a real saint. Now I realize they always say that about those who leave us too soon, but in this case it's true. See, my "friend" was none other than St. Vincent de Paul -- best known for his amazing thrift store. Oh yeah, and helping poor people and stuff.
This is true, but SVDP also pisses some people off!
The St. Vincent de Paul thrift store, conveniently located in the Lincoln Heights area of Los Angeles, used to be legendary. It was, like me, huge and cheap. Little by little, sections have been closed off and prices have steadily gone up. Suddenly, everything is a rare collectible -- even items that have obviously made their way there from the 99 Cent Only Store. Broken items are priced as if they were in mint condition and knock-offs are given price tags that would barely be acceptable if they were the real thing! And while I'm on the subject, if you run a store that sells old books, records, paintings and/or anything else that people may get excited about and want to purchase, may I kindly suggest that you spend a few pennies more on price stickers that won't ruin EVERYTHING they are fucking stuck on!?  Thank you.
The real sticker shock comes when you realize your item is RUINED!
And you may remember my recent blog post about how, while perusing the racks of womens dresses, I became increasingly more frustrated until I finally exclaimed, "Who's pricing these things? Some retarded faggot!?" To make a long story short, some young emaciated hipster girl with irony-poor blood and no sense of humor, decided to inform me that using "that word" was "offensive". When I gently asked her to which of my two slurs she was referring she indignantly replied, "Both!" I patiently explained to this PC moron that since I was indeed both -- gay AND retarded -- I had every right to say whatever I damn well pleased!  Needless to say, she slunk away like the spineless, carb-phobic lousy-lay she no doubt was!  As they say on "Portlandia" -- PUT A BIRD ON IT!

So, it is with great sadness that I officially announce that the once-amazing treasure hunt known as The St. Vincent de Paul Thrift Store has flat-lined and is, at the very least in a coma, but more than likely is, for all intents and purposes, DEAD!  Beep, beep, beep, beep, beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.
Not even Jerry would eat his cereal out of these butt-ugly bowls!
That is unless you're a big fan of cobalt blue glass that looks like it's right off the set of "Seinfeld," horrific faux Native American/lesbian-adjacent moon & stars crap, and/or hideous poly resin angels that would make even the Pope become a motherfuckin' atheist. Oh, and of course, there are always DOZENS of copies of "The DaVinci Code" (who in their right mind buys those bestsellers? Borrow it from a stupid friend, for chrissakes!) If you're into that kind of garbage, then I have some GREAT news: Vincent is still alive and kicking!


‎1. Astrological

2. Brooch

3. Davenport

4. Kimono

5. Luncheon

6. Maraschino

7. Opal

8. Ottoman

9. Parfait

10. Rumaki

11.  Savory

12. Tortoise

13. Zaftig

And my overachiever BONUS: Chenille!