A young gay boy
takes refuge in talk shows only to later find himself on
the other side of the screen.
In December,
I performed stand-up at the 10th annual Cracked Xmas
benefit for the Trevor Project, the nation’s only
24-hour LGBT teen suicide hotline. I was shocked I was
asked to perform at all, considering I did the same
event six years ago and totally stank up the joint.
Granted, it was barely two months after 9/11, so the
audience wasn’t exactly primed to laugh at
much. In hindsight I realize it would’ve taken
more than a couple of fart jokes to snap everyone out of
their traumatized stupor—but you live and
learn. Last year’s benefit was an especially
big deal because Jodie Foster was presenting an award and
Ellen DeGeneres was receiving one. I’m a huge fan of
both. Meeting someone I admire is always awkward. The
excitement of meeting a celebrity I love overwhelms me
and my inner spaz takes over. I met Whoopi Goldberg at
an after-party when I first moved to Los Angeles and was so
thrilled I practically dislocated my jaw and swallowed
her dreadlocked head. My inner mantra that night was
Keep cool. Don’t. Swallow. Anyone.
The first person
I encountered on the Cracked Xmas red carpet was Miss
Foster. I visualized my jaw wired shut. The minute we made
eye contact she affably said, “Hi! We’ve
met. How are you?” I answered through teeth
clenched like a ventriloquist, “Great! I’m
performing tonight.” She looked puzzled, smiled
politely, then walked away. I’m positive she
thought I was someone else: My acupuncturist? Someone
from traffic school? I got through my set
determined to make amends for the goose egg I had laid
in ’01. I waited in the wings and watched Ellen
receive her award from T.R. Knight. Passing me on her
way to meet the press backstage, she said, “You
were hilarious.” Nine days later I would
perform as a guest on her show.
Click here to follow The Advocate on Twitter.
Page 1 of 3