by Billy Masters

I was recently in San Francisco as a judge for the GayVN Awards, which honors the best in gay porn. You may have seen last year's ceremony featured on Kathy Griffin's show since she was the host. This year, Sirius OutQ’s Derek and Romaine had the dubious task of following in her footsteps—a job no one wanted because you were destined to pale in comparison. But the Gotham duo had the best game plan—get on, get off and keep the show moving. OK, it came to a screeching halt during both of Lady Bunny's sets, but at least she got some laughs.

Unlike last year, when the lion’s share of awards were won by Michael Lucas’ La Dolce Vita (a record 14 awards), this year's laurels were more evenly distributed. Raging Stallions’ Grunts was the big winner with nine trophies. Chi Chi LaRue’s Channel One Releasing garnered eight wins. Lucas’ The Intern won four awards. I’m not sure how thrilled SF-based companies Colt and Falcon were, having left with one and two trophies respectively. Everyone was all smiles—publicly, at least. Then came the inevitable e-mail from Lucas wondering why his film, The Intern, beat out his other flick, Gigolo, in a number of categories. Personally, I think having two high-profile flicks split the vote—and he’s a polarizing figure to begin with. Michael’s right about one thing: Gigolo is most certainly in a different class than The Intern.

The following week, the Oscars came and went with the smallest audience in recent history. Nothing against Jon Stewart, who I think did an admirable job, but there was no excitement at the Kodak Theatre —save for Marion Cotillard, who added a bit of, dare I say, joie de vivre to the proceedings. Because I’ve been battling a cold, I nixed sitting with the celebs; I don’t wanna be accused of giving George Clooney the flu! From my press room perch, I did some radio interviews and then made a brief appearance at some parties.

I managed to swing by Elton John’s legendary soirée, where the hot and insanely creative Chef Wayne Elias prepared a feast fit for a king—er, queen. As I was dashing through (and nearly tripped Portia de Rossi), I stumbled upon the oddest couple. Nope, not T.R. Knight and his new boyfriend Mark Cornelsen (about a dozen years T.R.’s junior—I'll run a pic on our website). I’m talking about JC Chasez and Chance Crawford. During the *NSYNC years, I always thought JC was the hot one. Remember, this was back when Justin was sporting the Bozo-the-Clown look. What a difference a decade makes. Photos to follow.

Aside from excitement, the Oscars were missing something else—Joan Rivers. Auntie Joan was across town performing her new play at the Geffen Playhouse. Joan Rivers: A Work in Progress by a Life in Progress was dripping with irony since the play is set on Oscar night, with Joan prepping to helm a pre-show. Although the stage version ends on a valedictory note, the truth is less rosy for our favorite comedienne, who has the distinction of having been banished from the red carpet by not one, but two networks.

I saw the show a few days before the Academy Awards, and let me first focus on the positives. This gives audiences a chance to realize something I already knew: Rivers is a marvelous actress. She effortlessly shifts between speaking directly to the audience during the more presentational moments to interacting with characters on stage. Her delivery is infallible and her ability to elicit a laugh is only matched by her capacity to tug at your heart. Her memory is miraculous—particularly for a woman nearly 75. Nary a flub nor stumble in sight, which is good news since the play is headed to the Edinburgh Festival, in addition to proposed West End and off-Broadway runs.

When asked why she wrote the play, Rivers says, “There's a lot of things I want to set the record straight on.” And on this score, she falls painfully short. Joan has written two brutally honest autobiographies that chart many of the situations in the play, but now the details have been curiously shifted. This attempt to alter her legacy takes away from what could be a more compelling piece of theater. The most glaring inaccuracy is how she describes the parting with Johnny Carson. In her second book, Joan goes into painstaking detail about the circumstances leading up to her Fox show—an idea she brought to them. Discussions went on for close to a year. Contracts were signed three weeks before the show was announced. Ten days after the signing, she made her final appearance on The Tonight Show. She says she desperately wanted to tell Johnny, but Fox forbade it; they didn't want news of the show to leak out. Ten days later, on her way to the official press conference, she was told that Johnny knew. She called him and he hung up on her. In the play, Fox approaches her to do a show, she calls Johnny for advice, and he unreasonably, and without provocation, hangs up on her. Huh?

Alas, this rewriting of history is not an isolated event. In the play, Joanie says that her husband committed suicide four days after she was fired from Fox. It was actually three months later. She says that when Edgar died, he left everything to their 16-year-old daughter, Melissa Rivers, who legally battled mom about selling the house. If Missy had been 16, she’d have been a minor and Mama would have control. A moot point—because Missy was 19! Joan says that in the midst of this turmoil, she contemplated suicide and even held a gun in her hand. Then her old, toothless, blind, eczema-ridden dog, Spike, crawled on her lap and she realized no one would take care of him if she was gone. In reality, Spike was only 3, had all his teeth and was cute as can be.

If an audience member questions even one of these details, the ball starts rolling. Was there really a suicidal thought? Was there a gun? Or is the whole thing contrived? By putting these thoughts in people’s heads, it takes them out of the drama unfolding onstage. And, the truth of the matter is, Rivers could have easily stuck to the facts and not lost a damn thing. Hopefully some rewrites will fix these points prior to future productions.

Speaking of theater news, I’ve been sitting on some news for months and I’ve finally been given the OK to share it. On April 22, my dear friend Jenifer Lewis will join the Broadway cast of Hairspray in the role of Motormouth Mabel. This has been a long time coming. The role was written for her, and she did the original demos and workshops. But because she was on Lifetime’s Strong Medicine, she was unable to originate the role on Broadway. Better late than never.

If you have dinner with Ashton Kutcher, you could catch an STD. At least, that's what happened at his recent 30th birthday party at Socialista, a restaurant in NY’s West Village. One of the bartenders was later diagnosed with hepatitis-A, a very treatable, but also very communicable strain of the disease. Ashton had the unfortunate task of suggesting a hep shot to all of his guests—including Bruce Willis, Madonna, Salma Hayek, Kate Hudson, Eric Dane, Lucy Liu and Ivanka Trump. I’m sure everyone figured they were in the clear for hepatitis since neither Pamela nor Tommy Lee were on the guest list!

Could it be that one of the American Idol boys has a gay porn past? I wouldn’t be surprised if it were more than one. But at least one has been singled out. We’ve received some snaps of this young man, happily posing in the nude. Is it someone’s little secret? Or simply a doppelganger? Since we can’t prove anything, we won’t say his name. But we will post the photos on BillyMasters.com, and you can decide for yourself.

When you have to see a blind item, it’s definitely time to end yet another column. Before my editors kill me for running long, let me just remind you to head to www.BillyMasters.com. If you have any questions, drop a note to Billy@BillyMasters.com and I promise to get back to you before Ashton gives me hepatitis (not that I’d mind—it’s a GREAT way to lose weight)! So, until next time, remember, one man's filth is another man's bible.