Filed by Trevor at 2:05 am under Gay Agenda, Gender Identity, Pop Culture

Last night I headed out to Silverlake for the Ian Harvie Show at El Cid. Come on — Margaret Cho, Ian Harvie, and Jeffery Sebelia all in one place at one time? Hit it.

OK, I admit it. I’m totally not a Jeffery fan, but since Project Runway owns my life, I decided to give in and embrace the opportunity. I totally suck at driving in LA, but somehow I managed to find the place with time to spare, even after having to turn around twice in the middle of Koreatown during rush hour. It’s funny, I used to be an optimist at one time — bubbly, even — but I fear those days are long gone, replaced only by total, mind-numbing paranoia. I say this because not only was I not hopelessly late, I also had absolutely no problem finding a place to park just around the corner from the restaurant. But instead of rejoicing in my good fortune, I frantically scanned the street for No Parking signs I may have missed. And not briefly, either — I worried about getting towed for at least the next ten minutes. But at least the smog was light enough that you could actually see the Hollywood sign. Kind of:

I had some spare time before the doors opened, so I did what I always do when I’m in LA by myself: I pretended to talk on my cell. Until someone strolled up, that is — I was relieved. Oksana and I introduced ourselves to one another, and she immediately asked me how I knew Ian. I laughed, thinking she was kidding, and explained that I had seen the banner on Ian’s Myspace page and immediately called for reservations. Realizing instantly by her reaction that she actually wasn’t kidding, I tentatively asked her if she knew Ian. “Oh sure,” she said, “We’re acquaintances.” God.

While waiting to be let in, we chatted with a group of friendly lesbians that had shown up en masse. After introducing myself, one of them asked cheerily, “So how long have you known Ian?” Taken aback, I regarded their whitewashed LA courtesy grins and politely recapped the explanation I had given Oksana not five minutes before, then turned to her discreetly and asked, “Why the hell does everyone keep asking me if I know Ian? Is this some kind of private party?” “Kind of,” she said. “OK, so am I some kind of interloper? Is he going to stop the show and throw me out or something?” “Relax,” she said reassuringly, patting my shoulder, “He puts this on for his friends and tried to get the word out as widely as possible. He’ll be glad you came.”

It sucks not being in the club, you know?

If you’ve never been, El Cid is a wonderful venue — long wooden tables, dimmed candelabras, and a small stage. In fact, Margaret hosts a burlesque show called the Sensuous Woman in the same space, so if there are any sensuous women out there that want to tag along, I’m going on the 18th. Anyway, when my eyes adjusted, I laughed involuntarily when I saw the endless ranks of the requisite gift bags — wouldn’t you? They’re everywhere. I can’t imagine being one of the poor souls that has to stuff those things at every LA function! The ones at the Wedding Wars premiere were the best, tons of CDs, a DVD of Paul McCartney, and even a candy bar with Gwen Stefani on it. So naturally I did what anyone else would do and went pearl diving. No CDs or chocolate but, oh, I found something even better:





Love.

I had tapas and a glass of wine and a great chat with Mike, one of the (unpaid) camera operators who had just moved down from Portland. Speaking of which, get this: Margaret herself was running one of the cameras. Talk about a grassroots effort! By my count, there were maybe 30 people in attendance in total, which made it that much easier to get to know some of the people in the audience. I sat directly across from John Amaechi, the Utah Jazz player that recently came out of the closet, who was there with his wonderful boyfriend, Joey. I was also thrilled to discover I was sitting right next to Ian’s parents, who had been in Southern California for three months while Ian’s father underwent treatment for prostate cancer — thankfully now in remission. I couldn’t help myself:

ME: (pointing a finger) I’ve heard things about you!
IAN’S MOM: Oh, I’m sure you know all about my underwear. And you know the ghost story from New Orleans? Before Katrina? It’s true!
IAN’S DAD: Have you ever seen her live before?
ME: No — I’ve only known of him for the past month or so.
IAN’S DAD: Well, you’ll love her — she’s a great person.

Sweetest parents ever, and the thick Maine accents made the two of them that much more endearing. There were two things that struck me the most — they still referred to Ian as “she,” which made sense, but more importantly that he was able to tell such personal stories on stage without being disabled by their presence. What an envious situation to be in.

Ian came out and did a short set, but the format of the show was essentially the same as a late-night talk show, co-hosted by Ian’s insane friend Edison Apple. One pleasant surprise was the musical guest, Matt Alber, who is a beautiful performer. His album drops this summer — make sure you check it out. But my favorite part of the night came when I won first place in the “Filthiest Public Restroom Story” contest. And my prize? A gigantic bottle of lube presented to me by a gorgeous tranny in a barely-there white evening gown. Oh, and a $15 gift card to Babeland. And it’s all on TV, by the way — a PA even chased me down to get my signature on the ubiquitous release form.

After the show, I immediately went to buy one of Matt’s CDs and found the table guarded by his (hot) boyfriend Dan. Seriously, the two of them are ridiculously hot. And genuinely sweet, down-to-earth guys. It makes me sick. Anyway, while Matt was off somewhere tearing down, I congratulated Dan (with clenched teeth) on his remarkable taste. He then asked me brightly, “So, how do you know Ian?” By this point I was tempted to say I was a jealous ex-lover from his days on Beaver Pond, but I bit my tongue. I grinned and gave my pared-down version, “I heard about it on Myspace!” That seemed to be enough.

I looked around and saw Ian chatting with his parents by the bar, so I took my now heavy gift bag and sheepishly asked if I could be an obnoxious fan and get a picture. He was more than happy to oblige:

I even managed to work up the courage to talk to Margaret, although I didn’t ask for a picture as she was just about to head out for dinner with her friends. But I shook her hand and told her how much I respect her, and that was more than enough for me. Now, I’m not the sort of person who gets starstruck over the most inane celebrities — you may not even be familiar with her work, in fact. But it’s rare that I have the opportunity to meet a person for whom I have such respect face-to-face, let alone two, so being given this chance was an almost spiritual experience. As well as discovering my car was still where I parked it — that was pretty spiritual as well. I popped Matt’s CD in my player and sang the whole way back.

And you know as soon as I got home I took my gift bag straight to my room and put some fresh batteries in that shit. Ha!