When Eric Calvario was first contacted by a casting director on Instagram about a possible television opportunity, he was not expecting to end up in drag.

The Los Angeles/Orange County-area dad was ultimately cast in “Too Many Daddies,” the June 5th episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race All Stars, which featured six real-life Southern California gay dads in the show’s makeover challenge. Though the episode aired two weeks ago, it still feels deeply present for the dads who took part.

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“I had never considered doing drag; I wasn’t too familiar with the show, and I was deep in raising an infant and toddler,” Calvario told the Blade, describing his initial hesitation. “Ultimately, I knew I had a performance background, I knew I could push myself, and I knew that, if handled correctly, this could mean a lot for the community of gay dads.”

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For Calvario, the episode was more than an opportunity to meet RuPaul. It was a chance to show younger LGBTQ+ people that queerness and parenthood are not mutually exclusive. The episode spoke directly to the younger version of himself, who once believed that being gay meant giving up the possibility of being a parent. He wanted viewers to see that parenthood is possible and that LGBTQ+ families can take many forms. “Yes, you can,” Calvario tells readers of the Blade, “and this is one of the many shades of what this might look like for you.”

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Calvario was not alone in seeing the episode as more than a makeover. For the other fathers, the experience was also viewed as a chance to make queer parenthood visible on one of television’s biggest LGBTQ+ screens.

Hector and Derek Del Valle said they were contacted about a casting opportunity for gay dads before realizing the show was Drag Race.

“The minute we found out the show was RuPaul’s Drag Race – let alone “All Stars” – we were completely gagged,” they told the Blade. “We’ve been watching since Day 1. Now as parents, our Friday nights look a bit different, but the one thing that remains the same is getting our drag fix – we just went from watching them in the clubs to watching them from our couch!”

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For the Del Valles, appearing on the show was deeply personal because they did not grow up seeing many examples of LGBTQ+ families.

“To appear on Drag Race as gay dads, especially in a challenge centered on family and visibility, felt incredibly profound,” they explained. “It was an opportunity to show the world that LGBTQ+ families exist, thrive, and deserve to be celebrated.”

Jeffrey Williamson-Rose said he and his husband were first contacted through a mysterious Instagram message from a producer. Once the words “World of Wonder” were mentioned, they realized the opportunity was connected to Drag Race.

“My husband and I thought that this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that we were given,” Williamson-Rose said. “The entire process of filming made me smile, and I thought of my daughter and husband the entire time. Seeing her reaction to seeing me on screen made it all worth it for me.”

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While the episode included the usual spectacle and humor expected from Drag Race, all of the dads explained that some of the most meaningful moments happened behind the scenes.

For Calvario, hearing about the struggles of other gay dads – including fathers from Florida who had to hide their family to protect their jobs – stayed with him.

“It made me realize that the challenges I feel as a gay dad look different everywhere and, in that moment, I told myself, ‘Talk less and give space for these guys to tell their stories, because no matter what challenges I may face, there is always someone who has it harder.’”

Williamson-Rose left with a similar impression, saying that the bond among the dads became one of the most rewarding parts of the experience.

“[All of the dads] are by far my fave group chat thread, and I normally LOATHE group chats,” he said. “I often think about how we reacted when we first saw ourselves in drag and how we were all somewhat reserved when we first arrived – to 48 hours later, us gushing and showing photos of our kids to each other. The bond for all 6 of us was instantaneous.”

The Del Valles said the conversations in the makeup chairs helped turn a random group of dads into a community.

“We shared our journeys to parenthood, talked about the unique joys and challenges of raising children as gay parents, and celebrated the families we’ve built,” Hector Del Valles said. “What started as a group of strangers quickly became a tight-knit community.”

For Southern California readers, Calvario leaves a heartwarming message:

“I want my community to know that we exist, that it isn’t always easy, but that any life you want to create is possible,” he said.

Williamson-Rose said he hopes the episode shows the many ways LGBTQ+ people create families, including adoption, fostering, foster-to-adopt and surrogacy.

“I am a firm believer of the idea that ‘You can’t be what you can’t see’ so I hope that this episode is the door that opens for those struggling to visualize what life can look like for them.”

For these fathers, the episode was not only about drag. It was about visibility. That is what makes the Del Valles’ message to readers so simple, yet so meaningful: their family is not defined by division, but by love.

“Our family is, at its core, built on the exact same things that make any family strong: love, commitment, support, and a desire to give our children the best life possible.”

RuPaul’s Drag Race All Stars streams on Paramount+. The “Too Many Daddies” episode is available now.

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The OUTLOUD Music Festival at WeHo Pride was held at West Hollywood Park on June 4-6. Performers included The Pussycat Dolls, JADE, Maude Latour, Ava Max, Ashlee Simpson, Confidence Man, Flo and the Blue Man Group, Mel Stalter, Mel C and more.

(Photos by Daniel Macadangdang and @StevenOnTheScene; courtesy Lucky Break)

Before I can begin a review of “Stop! That! Train!” (the movie that’s been algorithmically dominating your queer social media feed in the form of ads for weeks now), I feel it’s necessary to provide a disclaimer: I am not a superfan of “RuPaul’s Drag Race.”

That doesn’t mean I’m NOT a fan, mind you. I’m just disclosing that I have never been the loyal viewer for whom each new episode is the highlight of the week, or followed the careers of the contestants I loved the most; I don’t know who won each season, or how many times they’ve been on the show. I barely even know any of the catch phrases. I say all this because you should know that, as someone who didn’t get any of the show references I’ve been told were laced throughout the movie, I’m probably not the person RuPaul and filmmaker Adam Shankman had in mind when they were making it.

I do, however, respect and adore the art of drag, not just as an expression of queer identity tied to a long tradition stretching back centuries, but as a powerful tool for satire. It’s a queer-eyed view that exposes the hypocritical norms and mainstream “morality”of society in a form that goes right over the heads of anyone who isn’t in on the joke, and the Queens of “Drag Race” not only honor that tradition but live up to it. Make no mistake, the queer spirit of rebellion is alive and well in “Stop! That Train!” – even if it sometimes feels like it’s just along for the ride.

Mounted as a parody of old-school “disaster movies” – a genre that found its heyday in the same ‘70s and ‘80s period that also saw the success of classic movie spoofs like “Young Frankenstein” and “Airplane!” (which clearly serves as the primary blueprint) – Shankman’s film seems driven by an impulse toward the absurd as a kind of de facto social commentary, but puts the most emphasis on landing its jokes. It imagines a contemporary world where high-speed train travel is an actual thing in America (wouldn’t that be nice?) and a Black drag queen can be elected president (OK, maybe she’s a cisgender woman in context of the plot, but still), but in which everything is pretty much just as “off the rails” as it really is, anyway.

In the middle of it all are Tess and DeeDee (Ginger Minj and Jujubee, both popular “Drag Race” veterans), two “train stewardesses” who fake their way into jobs on the prestigious “Glamazonian Express” railway line and face hostility from the “mean girl” attendants who work there. The popularity contest soon takes a back seat, however, when the train finds itself speeding into a catastrophic “storm-o-ganza,” and they’re faced with the challenge of saving themselves – along with the train’s assortment of passengers – from all-but-certain doom. Fortunately, they’re not alone; under-appreciated train dispatcher Donna Dusk (Rachel Bloom) is doing her best to guide them from afar toward the least catastrophic outcome, and no less than American President Judy Gagwell (RuPaul Charles, of course) takes a personal interest in averting the disaster; after all, it could take a few points off of her popularity rating if she doesn’t. Can this plucky alliance of women-with-something-to-prove shepherd this runaway train (and everyone on board) to safety? Of course they can, and in the most ridiculous way possible.

Like the aforementioned “Airplane!” (the zany 1980 farce that was itself modeled after the popular “Airport” series of all-star disaster epics), “Stop! That! Train!” takes an approach to comedy that’s more like facing a high-speed pitching machine in a batting cage than watching a movie in a theater; it’s one joke after another, thrown rapid fire against the wall on the theory that at least some of them will stick – a time-honored tradition that, admittedly, results in a lot of them that don’t. For every belly laugh, there’s a real groaner, and a fair number of the chuckles are “polite” ones, at best; but that, of course, is part of the appeal. Screenwriters Christina Friel and Connor Wright skew their humor toward the lowbrow – something the popular drag movement fully embraces, anyway – and make most of their characters into clowns as they freely transplant plot points and tropes into their ludicrous scenario; all of it’s on purpose, and most of it works, because this is the kind of movie that is intended to be as “stupid” as possible and we wouldn’t want it any other way.

Of course, some viewers will inevitably be underwhelmed by the movie’s humor; its borrowed tropes may feel less funny for being too familiar, sometimes the “lowbrow” might edge too closely on the “tasteless,” and the overall spirit of “bitchiness” could easily just come across as just plain “mean” if one is in the wrong mood. Let’s face it, though: most of those people will probably not be going to see “Stop! That! Train!,” anyway. For the rest of us, even if more of its jokes fall flat than we might hope and some of the zingers don’t have the “zing” that they should, there’s still a cumulative effect that leaves the impression of a whole being greater than its parts. After all, sometimes we just want to have brainless fun at the movies instead of having to think too much about it, and nobody was expecting an Oscar-winner, were they?

As for the disaster movie plot, it’s impossible to take seriously, of course, but it does provide the opportunity to showcase a lot of characters – and caricatures – along the way. Minj and Jujubee are essentially the stars of the show, and their easy chemistry together helps them carry the film; RuPaul, every inch the superstar as ever, strides confidently into his presidential role and rightfully dominates every scene that he’s in, yet is graceful enough not to overwhelm or overshadow the work of his co-stars, especially Matt Rogers, who, as President Gagwell’s possibly psychopathic press secretary and confidante, shares more screen time with him than anyone else. 

Veteran comic actor (and “SNL” alumnus) Chris Parnell uses his hilariously deadpan lunacy to great advantage as the train’s conductor, and Brian Jordan Alvarez (“The English Teacher”) brings a smarmy charm as the co-conductor who doesn’t know how to operate a train – despite the questionable choice of using an exaggerated “Bill and Ted” era Keanu Reaves impression for his character’s voice. There’s a whole gallery of familiar faces on hand in bit parts and cameos as passengers on the train, who arguably provide more genuine comedy and interest than the main storyline. And even if she never sets foot on the train herself, Bloom (“Crazy Ex-Girlfriend”) is every bit on board for the ride, serving as a grounding force even as she gives herself over completely to the silliness.

And silly it certainly is. It’s as insubstantial as the AI-generated backgrounds used to create the action scenes of speeding train and the storm. And at the risk of repeating myself, we wouldn’t have it any other way.

The funniest people are those who’ve been through the hardships of life and came out the other side laughing. The comedians who have that special skill of seeing the comedy in their deepest turmoil, turning those dark moments into enjoyment for an audience — so, of course, many of the best ones are LGBTQ+.

We’re lucky to have many queer comedians working today, and some of the greatest can be seen on the LGBTQ+ streaming service, Revry. In many ways, it was these artists who got the platform to where it is today; Revry is one of the only streaming sites completely dedicated to showing LGBTQ+ content. While it’s become known over the years for its episodic series and competition shows, many fans first heard about it because of its comedy, the Drag Roasts and indie specials that finally allowed viewers to laugh along with audiences just like them. The service has always been dedicated to uplifting this kind of comedy, and with its new series, I’m Dead, it’s aiming to make queer watchers everywhere laugh harder than they ever have before. 

“Queer people are not always the ones in the development room or making the decisions on things,” explained Damian Pelliccione, Revry CEO and co-founder. “And that’s what’s really unique about our network — we’re the ones in the driver’s seat.” It’s an unfortunate truth in modern media: while many streaming services feature LGBTQ+ content, few have made the consistent effort to ‘take a chance’ on queer artists. Even more, recent years saw a historic low in terms of onscreen representation as many services have caved in to discriminatory rhetoric. 

This has left many people searching for not only representation but a reprieve from the daily stressors of modern queer life. It’s an issue that Revry knows well, and that Pelliccione and their entire team hope to address with I’m Dead. 

“There’s a plethora of amazing, queer comics in Los Angeles, and this is an opportunity for them to have a platform!” Raved the CEO. “Like Salina EsTitties, who [was just] on RuPaul’s Drag Race All-Stars, and Adario Mercadante, who does stand-up in a [fursuit]…I know our audience is going to gag!” Split over 12 episodes, I’m Dead will see 12 of LA’s best, queerest stand-up comedians offer hilarious stories about their most intimate moments onstage in front of a queer audience. Whether it be RuPaul’s Drag Race royalty like EsTitties, trailblazing comedians like Lady Bushra, or even fan-favorites from Revry’s other hit series, King of Drag, like Pressure K, each performer brings a unique perspective that shows the many sides of living as a queer person today.

The Los Angeles Blade was invited to a special taping of these acts, ones that not only featured a wide array of comics onstage but also a diverse group of LGBTQ+ Angelinos in the audience. Every performance was a comedic foray into each stand-up’s (deeply twisted) mind. But what really stood out about each act was that it reminded watchers of a fact many people forget: building community can be really, really funny.

Pelliccione spoke openly about how recent years have impacted entertainment as a whole; their role at Revry means they’ve had to watch closely as countless other services scaled back on inclusive content. And while this disappointed their team, everyone at Revry saw these changes not as a sign to give up, but as a reason to do more than they ever had before for queer viewers. “People need comedy — we need joy!” Emphasized Pelliccione. “We need something that’s uplifting and is taking us out of kind of the dark reality that we’re living in right now.”

That goal is at the core of I’m Dead, with this mission showing through not only in-person at the live tapings but in every minute that fans are watching onscreen. These stand-ups discuss hard moments that countless queer people relate to and show that not only can you live through it, but you can turn it into gut-busting joy for yourself and everyone around you. This series reminds us that laughing through the pain is a genuine path to liberation! That nobody in the queer community is alone, and that while we’re fighting for our rights, we should always make the time to find joy with the folks fighting along with us.

I’m Dead is an uproarious source of representation and a one-of-a-kind platform for these comics who are getting to directly serve their community with each jaw-dropping joke. The program is a vital reminder of the importance of queer community and a valued source of representation when many people need it most — and all that while being utterly hilarious!

You can stream I’m Dead now on Revry

West Hollywood is often defined by its nightlife, but Miss Elaine makes the case for daytime shenanigans.

On June 20, Fiesta Cantina will launch Rooftopia, an unapologetically LGBTQ+ daytime party taking place from 3 to 9 p.m. on the venue’s newly refreshed rooftop at 8865 Santa Monica Boulevard. Hosted by Scott McMaster, who performs as Miss Elaine and was crowned Miss’d America 2023, Rooftopia marks the launch of a new queer daytime party at Fiesta Cantina in West Hollywood.

Miss Elaine – the WeHo-native drag queen, magician, and prop artisan – tells the Blade that the story began in a casual way: with a Drag Race viewing party.

“One night, my friends and I were sprinting down Santa Monica Boulevard trying to get a table somewhere to watch Drag Race,” she said. “Everywhere was packed, so we wandered into Fiesta Cantina and ended up having the most joyful, ridiculous night.”

That random night turned into a routine. Miss Elaine and her friends kept returning to Fiesta Cantina for viewing parties and trivia nights. Eventually, she became the host of Drag Race viewing parties at Fiesta Cantina herself. 

Then she discovered the ‘mysterious’ rooftop.

“I literally could not believe I had been sitting underneath WeHo’s best-kept secret for so long,” she said. “And not just any rooftop, but the only rooftop in the Rainbow District, with all these stories and memories attached to it.”

From there, Rooftopia was imagined. The goal was never to throw a simple party, but to restore the space as a symbol of queer history. Miss Elaine explained that everyone in West Hollywood – “back in the day” – had their own Fiesta rooftop stories, and that it was time to create a new chapter for the venue.

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Before moving to Los Angeles, she worked on a Philadelphia pop-up cabaret called Late Night Snacks, where vacant and abandoned spaces were transformed into immersive performance venues.

“That’s always been my magic,” she said. “I love uncovering the history of a space and revealing what’s hidden beneath years of dust and neglect.”

That background shaped the redesign of the rooftop. Miss Elaine worked with manager and producer Nathan Booth on developing this idea, discussing cost estimates and floor plans. From there, a group of friends pitched in to make the dream of the rooftop come alive.  

The process, she said, was “hot,” “dusty,” and “chaotic,” especially as it came together during Pride season. But the finished product was clear: a colorful extension of Fiesta Cantina with its own distinct identity. 

“We leaned into a Modern Mexicana aesthetic with vibrant teals, fuchsias, marigolds, shade structures, tropical plants, and colorful details throughout,” Miss Elaine told the Blade. The unique space has the feel of a hidden speakeasy, where guests walk up the stairs and are met with a rooftop that surprises them.

Rooftopia also aims to address what Miss Elaine sees as a gap in LGBTQ+ social life: a daytime event that is neither a traditional drag brunch nor simply nightlife moved into the afternoon.

“Life happens at every hour,” she explained. “I’m a drag queen of a certain age. I still love to party, but I also appreciate being home at a reasonable time. Why not have the Afters in the afternoon?”

She calls the mood “golden hour euphoria” – a Saturday afternoon space where people can stumble in after their morning mimosas, start their evening early, or simply spend the day basking in the sun.

The event will include free entry with RSVP, all-day happy hour, specialty cocktails, a sunscreen and water bar, clothing check, and a swimwear- and underwear-friendly atmosphere (yes, speedos included) for guests 21 and over.

Miss Elaine leaves the readers with a simple invitation: “Come have a cocktail. Take a selfie. Tell me your old Fiesta rooftop stories so I can add them to the journal. Then make a few new memories of your own.”

Rooftopia takes place Saturday, June 20, from 3 to 9 p.m. at Fiesta Cantina WeHo, 8865 Santa Monica Blvd. Entry is free with RSVP.

Get your tickets here.

Queer folk have always found a home in theatre.

And that’s not just because many LGBTQ+ performers are drawn to the stage (though that certainly doesn’t hurt). But it’s really in the essence of theater where queer people can find the most freedom. While this is a medium where performers embody others, it also allows for a level of self-expression and assuredness that many queer people are denied in their daily lives.

Theater in its many forms is often key to LGBTQ+ people finding their truest selves. And, for gay opera singer Miles Mykkanen, it’s exactly what the renowned performer needed to discover his queerest, most authentic self today.

Mykkanen is currently stunning audiences as the lead in the LA Opera’s The Magic Flute, a historic show that follows a prince (armed with his magical instrument, of course) as he traverses a surreal world searching for his lost love. Miles spoke with the LA Blade between rehearsals about his long career of performing opera as an openly gay man. Discussing The Magic Flute specifically, he raved about its timelessness, beginning the interview by saying, “Behind all of these fancy tunes and fun fantastical characters, there is so much meaning about our own humanity.”

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“[This cast] is all in our 30s, late 20s,” Miles continued. “And that’s where The Magic Flute shines, because it is about young people really coming into the world and becoming adults.” He continued to describe the many wonders of this show, with the current production combining animated projections and mind-bending acting to portray its chaotically wondrous world. Along with its content, the man spoke about how excited he was to be a part of the performance — this is Miles’ LA Opera debut! — that will cap off the renowned Maestro James Conlin’s 20-year tenure with the company.

While this is the singer’s first time with the LA Opera, he certainly isn’t new to gracing the stage; this season alone saw Mykkanen perform with New York’s Metropolitan Opera. The past few years have taken him global, with Mykkanen’s performances ranging from Christmas-themed shows in Texas to solo acts in the Netherlands. For decades now, theater-goers worldwide have been lucky to witness his musical prowess. But as he discussed The Magic Flute and its story of growing up, Miles emphasized that he wasn’t always the powerhouse people listen to today. Just like so many other performers, his passion for the arts began with a love of theater — a love that would not only land him his dream career, but help him understand his own queerness. 

“I grew up in the woods of the Upper Peninsula, Michigan, where there were maybe 800 people in my town — so definitely no opera!” He laughed. “I was in a very sheltered upbringing, but I have two parents who are just the most incredible. They’re both high school band Directors, and so they would take my sister and me down to Minneapolis, which was about a five-hour drive, to see shows.” Miles described the wonder of these evenings out with his family, how his younger self adored the way each show’s cast transported the audience with their voices and movements. It’s what inspired him to pursue voice lessons and, eventually, go to Juilliard. “I hadn’t [even] seen an opera! I showed up to Juilliard, I’m across from the Metropolitan Opera, and I’m going, ‘What am I doing here?’ And it was a slow process, a slow discovery, but I fell deeply, deeply in love with the art form.”

Happening right alongside this musical journey was Mykkanen recognizing that he was different from everyone else in his small town — and not just because of how much he loved singing. “The theater was a huge part of my own personal coming out story, as I know it is for a lot of my friends,” he explained. “That you can go on stage, and maybe you’re becoming another character, or maybe you’re not really becoming that much different than who you really are…it’s under this facade, under the lights, that the audience just accepts that you can [be whoever] you want when you’re on stage. That freedom was something I obviously was lacking in my life as a kid, but it’s something now that I don’t take for granted.”

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Miles’ interview quickly grew introspective, as the man described not only the wonders of the LA Opera’s The Magic Flute but also how this story of youthful evolution reflects his own journey into the opera superstar fans know today. As he thought back to his early days and all that he’s accomplished as an openly gay singer, Miles emphasized that more than the applause or the accolades, he does this work for the kids like him. The ones who are watching shows in awe, learning how much they love theater, and wishing they could be as free as the people they’re watching onstage. 

“I hope that the young queer kids who’re sitting in the audience, who can’t say something out loud yet…are looking at me and saying, ‘Okay, but here’s a gay kid who didn’t have anything.’ I didn’t have doors open to me; I didn’t have parents who had connections into the business, or anything like that. I just went out there, and I kept studying how to sing, and I kept figuring out how to do this. I hope that can inspire other kids — that really, it does not matter what your background is, it doesn’t matter what you think people think about you. Just keep going and pursuing what is inside of you, that little flame inside of all of us.” At this, the singer beamed, proud of how his open identity helps others through each performance. To everyone who has ever seen or will see him perform, Miles encouraged, “Try to carve a space out in this world, because we need to hear [you]. We need to see [you]… we need to experience all of that magic inside of all of us.”

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It’s a kind of queer magic that Miles Mykkanen embodies in every performance. And it’s one that LGBTQ+ theater lovers all across Los Angeles can see now by going to see the performer in The Magic Flute. 

You can purchase tickets for the LA Opera Pride Night performance of The Magic Flute here.

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Prism Comics will present the fifth annual Q Con, Southern California’s only LGBTQIA+ comic convention, this month as part of WeHo Pride Month’s arts and entertainment programming.

The free, all-ages event will take place Saturday, June 20, from 11 a.m. to 6 p.m. at Fiesta Hall in Plummer Park, located at 7377 Santa Monica Blvd. in West Hollywood. Q Con celebrates LGBTQIA+ comic books, graphic novels, pop media, gaming, and cosplay. Guests have the opportunity to meet creators, attend panels, get autographs, participate in a costume contest, and explore comics and graphic novels centered on LGBTQIA+ stories.

For Ted Abenheim, president of Prism Comics, the importance of LGBTQ+ comics is personal.

As a lifelong comics fan who has attended San Diego Comic-Con since the 1980s – and who showed up to the interview wearing an Aquaman T-shirt, with a Prism Comics shirt nearby – Abenheim remembers growing up at a time when LGBTQ+ people were largely absent from mainstream comics. When queer characters did appear in popular media, they were often reduced to stereotypes or pushed to the margins.

“I didn’t see myself in comics,” Abenheim told the Blade. “There were no queer characters in mainstream comics.”

This feeling began to change when he encountered LGBTQ+ comics and creators who were telling stories that felt more inclusive, honest, and recognizable. When he found Prism Comics at San Diego Comic-Con in the early 2000s, he discovered what he describes as an entire world of independent queer comics – stories that spoke directly to readers like himself and reflected the diversity of their lives.

“What I found at Prism Comics were all these comics that spoke to us and showed our stories in a far broader, more honest and creative way than mainstream comics,” Abenheim said.

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For Abenheim, the all-ages element of Q CON is necessary. He explained that young readers deserve access to affirming stories and positive LGBTQ+ role models – something he wishes he had encountered earlier in life. “If I had seen these positive role models of LGBTQ people in stories, it would have given me confidence that you’re okay,” Abenheim said. “You’re not broken. You’re not bad.”

The convention is also designed as a space for families to come together, meet LGBTQ+ creators and discover stories that reflect a wide range of queer experiences. Abenheim said parents often bring their children to meet creators, browse books, and talk with artists whose work has helped them better understand themselves or someone they love. He recalled seeing young trans readers spend extended time speaking with trans creators, as well as parents approaching creators with questions and gratitude.

“Stories make a difference,” Abenheim said. “These stories make a difference to people’s lives.”

This year’s special guests include Richard Fairgray, Maia Kobabe, Lee Knox Ostertag, Joe Phillips, ND Stevenson and Jen Wang. Kobabe, the creator of Gender Queer, is especially significant to Abenheim given the current political climate and the rise in book bans targeting LGBTQ+ stories. In 2025, the American Library Association listed Gender Queer as the third-most challenged book in the country, after many challenges to its LGBTQIA+ content. 

“They are trying to erase us,” Abenheim said. “Our voices need to be heard louder more than ever.”

Beyond readers and fans, Q Con also supports rising LGBTQIA+ comics creators. Prism Comics was founded, in part, to create opportunities for queer artists and writers, and Abenheim said the organization has offered creators a place to connect with audiences at conventions. This year is particularly special: Q Con will include portfolio reviews by comics professionals for aspiring creators.

“We provide opportunities and a place at the table for aspiring creators to meet with readers and to show their comic books,” Abenheim said.

Even for people who do not consider themselves “comic book people,” Abenheim said Q Con offers something inviting, making the event relevant to everyone. Art, stories, panels, cosplay, voice actors, and a chance to experience queer creativity in many forms will be readily present.

“There’s something for many genres and interests,” he said. “The energy is really high … Everybody’s happy.”

Q Con is supported by an arts grant from the City of West Hollywood, along with sponsors including Modern Fanatic and Los Angeles Film School. Abenheim said, and cannot stress enough, how grateful Prism Comics is to the city and its supporters for helping make the event possible.

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The convention typically draws between 800 and 1,400 attendees, and Abenheim hopes this year lands on the higher end. But for him, the success of the event is not just measured in numbers. It is measured in the warm moments when people approach Prism volunteers and thank them for creating a space where LGBTQ+ comics, creators, and readers are visible.

Abenheim puts it simply: “It’s empowering the community.”

Looking ahead, Abenheim remains hopeful about the future of queer comics. He pointed to Webcomics and independent publishing as tools that have opened new pathways for LGBTQ+ creators to tell stories that might not have found a home in mainstream comics.

“There are a lot of queer stories that haven’t been told,” Abenheim said. “There’s a lot still to tell.”

Q Con will take place Saturday, June 20, from 11 a.m. to 6 p.m. at Fiesta Hall in Plummer Park, 7377 Santa Monica Blvd., West Hollywood. Admission is free. Advanced tickets are recommended, though tickets will also be available at the door. For more information, visit qconprism.org.

By Bowe Avery and Jack Lea

In a time when anti-trans legislation and hurtful rhetoric dominate the headlines, we believe that telling our stories isn’t something radical; it’s necessary. As trans, neurodivergent actors in Los Angeles, we’ve found something life-changing in the most unexpected place: a theater company that makes space for us to survive and thrive.

We’re actors, storytellers, and trans men living in Los Angeles. We’re also autistic. The space we’ve found is EPIC Players LA, a nonprofit theater company that puts neurodivergent and disabled performers at the center. It’s a place where we can show up fully as artists, as trans people, as ourselves. That shouldn’t be rare, but it is.

EPIC was founded in 2016 in New York and expanded to Los Angeles in 2023. In both cities, it provides career training, performance opportunities, and community. The difference is that it does so with the understanding that disability and queerness aren’t obstacles to be overcome; they’re part of what makes us powerful artists.

Getting to this point wasn’t easy. Jack was misdiagnosed with bipolar disorder before receiving an autism diagnosis as an adult. That discovery was life-changing because it offered clarity and revealed how much energy had been spent hiding. Learning about “masking,” the unconscious pressure autistic people feel to suppress their natural behaviors, opened the door to deeper questions about gender. When you stop performing for the world, what’s left? In Jack’s case, that question led to the realization that he was a trans man.

Coming out brought relief and clarity, but it also came with new challenges, especially for performers. Transitioning as performers meant relearning our instruments – our voices. Testosterone doesn’t just change your body; it transforms how we sound. Suddenly, the tools we had honed for years needed recalibration. In most performance spaces, that might be career-ending. At EPIC, it became part of our training. We weren’t left behind.

We were connected with a trans voice coach. We practiced with other trans performers. And when we got on stage for our first cabaret and sang a Backstreet Boys number, our voices raw and reshaped, our identities affirmed, it wasn’t just performance. It was a reclamation.

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The support at EPIC goes far beyond the stage. When one of us was let go from a job for reasons tied to gender identity, this community showed up immediately. That kind of support shouldn’t feel rare, but it does. Too often, we’ve had to choose between being seen for our identities or being supported as artists. At EPIC, we don’t have to choose.

It’s also one of the only places where we’re not “the odd ones out.” Autism and trans identity intersect in ways that are rarely discussed. A major study out of Cambridge found that trans people are three to six times more likely to be autistic than the general population. That overlap is sometimes used against us as another excuse to question our identities. But we see it differently. Our neurodivergence gives us the tools to question norms, to resist social scripts, and to explore who we really are. It’s not a barrier to truth. It’s often the thing that helps us find it.

That’s why we speak up. Because the stakes are high.

Right now, trans people across the country are being targeted by legislation and misinformation. And all the while, funding for the arts, the very tools we use to speak truth, is drying up. That’s why places like EPIC matter so deeply. It’s a place where we’ve learned to breathe, speak, and perform again. It’s where we’ve met mentors, advocates, and friends. It’s enabling us to choose creation over erasure.

And this isn’t just about us. It’s about the next generation of trans artists who are watching what’s happening and wondering if they’ll have a place in the world. We want them to know that they will and that we’re building it now.

This Pride Month, remember something: trans people are not a political talking point or a threat. We are performers, writers, and so much more. We are your neighbors. We are artists, and we have stories to tell. We are a part of the future of art.

Visibility matters. Safety matters. Art matters.

For more information, visit Epicplayersnyc.org/epic-la

When ChiChi Charlas steps onto the main stage at the 56th Annual LA Pride Parade on June 14, the moment will carry more weight than a typical hosting role.

For the Los Angeles drag performer, policy advocate and commissioner, moderating the main stage is an opportunity to honor what Pride has always been about: celebration, protest, and community.

“The origin of Pride has its roots in uprisings and protests, oftentimes led by Black and brown trans women,” ChiChi told the Blade. “From Christopher Street to Cooper Do-nuts to the fight against Rule No. 9 here in Los Angeles, trans and gender expansive people have resisted criminalization and have demanded the right to live freely.”

That history, ChiChi explains, is the foundation of how they understand Pride. After hosting LA Pride’s Latine Stage last year, being invited to host the main stage this year feels like a profound accomplishment.

“I am showing up as a first-generation Mexican-American, queer, trans, gender-expansive Angeleno,” ChiChi confidently told the Blade, “But also as a commissioner, a community and policy advocate, and an educator.”

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Many view hosting events as simply introducing performers. However, for ChiChi, this opportunity to host is about creating a space where people feel welcome and connected to something larger than a single day of celebration.

“It is about creating a space where our history, our joy, and our collective experiences and power can all be uplifted and celebrated,” ChiChi said. “I want people to leave with an instilled sense of hope, empowerment, and knowledge on how to get involved in the community.”

As a drag performer who accentuates their facial hair, ChiChi said their work does not fit neatly into traditional drag queen or drag king aesthetics. “I feel that this kind of visibility matters now more than ever when drag and trans people are being hyper-targeted for their gender and gender expression,” ChiChi stated. It is evident that ChiChi’s drag challenges gender expectations directly and seeks to make the LGBTQ+ community more open to diverse forms of expression.

That visibility is personally meaningful to ChiChi as a Latine performer. They said they want other Latine community members to feel seen when they are on stage – including families who may still be learning how to support LGBTQ+ loved ones.

“Homophobia, transphobia, and machismo are very much alive within many Latine communities,” ChiChi said. “I know that we will have many parents present who are learning and unlearning. I hope to provide them with a message of kindness and gratitude for all their work.”

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Beyond performance, ChiChi’s advocacy has focused heavily on housing policy for trans and gender expansive people. Before shifting fully into LGBTQ+ advocacy, ChiChi spent nearly ten years in the housing nonprofit sector. In that work, they saw how homophobia, transphobia, racism, and structural inequities place LGBTQ+ people – especially Black and brown trans and gender expansive people – at greater risk of housing instability.

ChiChi told the Blade that their policy work is “grounded in the belief that when trans and gender expansive people have stable housing, our entire community becomes safer and stronger.”

For ChiChi, supporting trans people beyond Pride means moving from individual celebrations to sustained action. That includes “supporting trans-led organizations, protecting trans youth, and challenging anti-trans rhetoric in the spaces we move through.”

As thousands gather for LA Pride, ChiChi hopes people remember that Pride was made possible by those who resisted criminalization and state violence – and that the work is not over when the parade ends and the curtain falls.

ChiChi leads the readers with a final and important question:

“If we are not visible, if we are not supported, if our struggles are not taken into account in spaces such as Pride,” ChiChi said, “then how can we expect non-LGBTQ+ people to even look our way?”

Click for more information regarding LA Pride.

‘Devout: Losing My Faith to Find Myself’
By David Archuleta
c.2026, Gallery Books
$29/290 pages

So just make up your mind already.

The decision is very much in your control – or, at least that’s how it’s supposed to be. It’ll be your future, your path, and seizing it may not just be necessary, but mandatory. It’s your life, and no one can live it for you. As in the new memoir “Devout” by David Archuleta, that goes for career and for love, too.

Born to parents who both had musical careers before they wed, David Archuleta remembers an early childhood growing up in a Hispanic Mormon community in Florida, where kin was always nearby. He was six when his parents moved the immediate family to Utah; the first thing he remembers about that is the snow, and how it was so cold, it burned.

Because music was in his blood, Archuleta grew up singing and dancing, often with his mother whom he calls “my rock.” It was his father, however, who encouraged him to perform; first, with a gentle push, then a shove toward a career Archuleta didn’t really want.

But he did want to make his father happy, so he went along with the contests, embarrassing meet-and-greets with stars, and uncomfortable introductions. Slowly, though, performing became more fun, and Archuleta made friends.

Meanwhile, back home, everything was breaking apart. A “family friend” whom Archuleta refuses to name accused his father of abuse. He was exonerated, but it affected the family’s closeness and they stopped being affectionate.

That was a painful backdrop to Archuleta’s soaring career, his appearances on Star Search, friendships with other rising stars, his runner-up spot on “American Idol,” tours, and recording contracts. His father kept pushing him.

But there was one thing missing.

Since he was a boy, Archuleta had known that he was attracted to men, but his Mormon faith taught him that that was unacceptable. Kissing, his abuelita said, was wrong. He tried hard to date girls, in the most chaste way. Anything past that was against God – and anything at all with a man was unthinkable.

Though it absolutely favors his personal life and dwells on it a bit too much, “Devout” strikes an otherwise nice balance between that, author David Archuleta’s career, his sexuality, and his faith. The latter two are loaded with controversy.

You don’t need to be Mormon to fully understand the faith part; Archuleta offers non-Mormons a brief education, so readers can see the importance of the Church’s teachings in his life and why he felt the need to abandon it as his understanding of his bisexuality grew. It’s emotionally raw and honest, but also so respectful that it almost bears re-reading. Such candor and the heart-on-his-sleeve tone you’ll sense are features in the entire book, alongside Archuleta’s family’s struggles and his learning to strike out alone.

It’s harmonious in more ways than one, and fans will be happy.

So, too, will anyone who wants a unique memoir with a dose of faith, or someone who’s an “American Idol”watcher. Find “Devout” and be sure to share. You won’t mind.

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