I was asked on a date recently by the notorious and delightful Mario Diaz — and as if that alone wasn’t enough of a thrill for a fat girl from Fresno…the date was to see a show performed by his old New York City comrade in song and sin, Mx. Justin Vivian Bond. Mario and Jackie Beat have always gone on and on about their old friend, and I was always like, “Yeah, yeah, yeah…I get it. She’s brilliant.”
That night, sitting in my seat in the dark, tightly holding Mario’s hand, the tears started pouring out of me from the very first note out of Mx. Bond’s smoky throat — and never stopped. I have never been so moved by a live performance in all my life. I still can’t speak of it without weeping.
The next time some queen shakes his head, shrugs his shoulders, sighs from his soul, and says to you in a voice filled with longing, “Yeah, [Insert name of magnificent chanteuse from the past]…they don’t make broads like that anymore.” — I am telling you right now, my friend, THAT THEY DO.