Did I leave any of your favorites off the list? Please feel free to leave your favorite picks in the comments!

Eurythmics - Here Comes the Rain Again
Back in the good old days, when Annie Lennox still looked like a gender-bending dominatrix, the Eurythmics gave us this disco-influenced synth treasure.

Madonna - Into the Groove
Before Evita, before “Sex”, before children and a faux British accent, Madonna was gyrating to synthesized tracks like this. The opening riff is instantly recognizable.

Steve Winwood - Valerie
You know that your song is an under-the-radar electronic hit when it becomes the basis for a club hit by Eric Prydz almost 20 years later. There was clearly something magical that we missed in this song the first time around.

Cyndi Lauper - She Bop
One of the only masturbation anthems in existence, this track has an infectious bass line, and whistling. Need I say more?

Europe - The Final Countdown
DRAMA! This song makes the list because it’s so ridiculously over the top and epic.

Corey Hart - Sunglasses at Night
Fashion faux pas or synth classic? You decide.

New Order - Bizarre Love Triangle
Memorable high-pitched arpeggios and computerized vocals make this New Order track really stand out.

Erasure - Oh L’amour
Even before the French hated our freedom, Erasure’s Vince Clarke wasn’t afraid to pen a happy love song.

Depeche Mode - Just Can’t Get Enough
Another Vince Clarke pre-Erasure composition, this track really shines for its use of warm and distinctive analogue synths.

Pet Shop Boys - It’s a Sin
Never did something so sinful and dramatic feel so right.

a-ha - Take On Me
Most remembered for its cartoon meets real life music video, this song is also a synth gem.

Yaz - Situation
The intro to this track is amazing — listen to how the two synth lines play back and forth between the right and left channels.

Postal Service - Such Great Heights
The most modern example in this line-up, this indie electro favorite has become the basis for several television and radio commercials because of its standout intro.

Nu Shooz - I Can’t Wait
The chorus is so easy to sing with! Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah, ah ah ah ah ah ah. The synthesized vocal “ahs” are clearly more important than any other part of the song.

Van Halen - Jump
Gotta get the rock genre represented here! Just because they’ve got big hair and guitars doesn’t mean that they can’t play with the electronic big boys!

Stevie Nicks - Stand Back
Another famous synth line sampled by Linus Loves on his new album, Stage Invader.

Donna Summer - I Feel Love
Madonna loved the driving bass line to this track so much that she used it as the basis for the opening song of her latest tour.

Animotion - Obsession
Who do you want me to be to make you sleep with me? Preferably, someone who can play they keyboards.

Journey - Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)
Yes, the music video was horrible, but there’s no way that anyone can ignore the great electronic parts of this song.

The last time I decided review my catalog of incommunicado stalkers, I was greeted by the smile of a handsome, surprisingly boyish 25-year old redhead named Ricky. His small collection of photos on Friendster had him in various states of business attire, sometimes from awkward angles, smiling with friends, and having a good time.

His profile indicated that he was from Toledo, which wasn’t surprising to me. I seem to meet Midwestern ex-patriots on a constant basis, all of whom usually share the common dream of living a less oppressive lifestyle amidst the streetcars of San Francisco. In general, these boys are often shy, warm, and trusting — not yet tainted by the challenges of living and dating in the homo-jungle.

I went right to work by sending a “smile” to let him know that I’d like to chat sometime, and soon we were having the usual back-and-forth banter that I’m used to when talking to boys online. Before too long, we had arranged to meet for lunch on Sunday. As we were solidifying our plans and deciding where to meet, he nearly shocked me from my desk chair onto the floor.

“I mentioned I’ve done porn, right?” he asked me.

“Ummmm… no,” I replied, not knowing exactly where this was going.

Ricky went on to provide me with his porn name and suggested that I should Google it. At first, I was only able to find an extremely overweight man with that name, not realizing that the SafeSearch feature was enabled. After fighting with Google for the right to find dirty search results, I came across the proof that I was looking for.

There he was — this redhead Midwestern boy, sprawled out across beds and bathroom counters in various states of penetration, clear as day. I surprised myself when the first thought that came to my mind was, Wow, he looks a lot better in these pictures than the ones on Friendster! I clicked on a few of the free 30-second preview clips to see my new acquaintance in action. Of course, now everything had changed.

After the shock wore off, I was filled with a sense of total intimidation. I’m generally not incredibly confident when meeting guys online to begin with, and the idea of having lunch with a “porn star” was for some reason infinitely more daunting to me than simply meeting an online connection for lunch. Furthermore, now that I had opened Pandora’s box and looked at the photos and video clips, I wondered if it would be awkward to meet him in person.

In the aftershocks of this new revelation, my curiosity got the best of me and I was compelled to ask him some questions about his experiences, but none of the replies he gave me were nearly as interesting as the bits of information he volunteered without being asked.

“I’ve done [bareback],” he messaged me, “but only a few times, and only with people I trust.”

Ricky told me about his ex-boyfriend who had come up HIV-positive, his plans to get a degree in linguistics, and his desire to find a long-term relationship and have children. We talked about past relationships and how his adult film career affects his ability to find steady dates.

“I won’t date someone who asks me to stop doing porn,” he told me. “That’s fucking selfish. I want to have the option open.”

We also talked about his movies, and I suggested that the photos and clips seemed to indicate a very well-defined sexual role preference — the first and possibly only thing that Ricky and I had in common.

“Two bottoms don’t make a top,” he quipped, “but they can make great friends!”

I wondered if truer words had ever been spoken.

We had planned to meet at Chow, a quaint neighborhood restaurant near the Castro, but when I called Ricky from outside the MUNI station, he was at 24-Hour Fitness signing up for a membership with a friend, and asked me to meet him there.

As I was waiting in the lobby area for him to finish filling out paperwork, I thought about how surreal it was to be meeting someone for the first time, having already seen him completely naked, being fucked in every position imaginable. I wondered if it would make me uncomfortable or nervous. Would my hands shake? Would I stumble?

When he walked out of the office to meet me, it was like he was a completely different person. I looked him over, recognizing the familiar doe-eyes and tuft of red hair, but his face wasn’t vacant and expressionless like I had remembered from the movies. He was an actual person.

This boy is leading a double life, I thought to myself. Had I seen him on the street, I would have never imagined that this innocent boy was employed by the sex entertainment industry, not only once, but several times. Then, it really hit me. This was his appeal. His golden ticket. He was the classic Midwestern twink, and he knew it — and ate it up.

As we sat down to lunch at Chow, Ricky immediately began excitedly telling me a story about the massage therapist who had molested him the day before while he was getting has ass waxed, and how he planned to report it. He boasted that while the waxing of his legs and ass cost him $90, he would be completely smooth for four weeks. His assertiveness suggested to me that this was money well spent. I wondered how many different people would have the pleasure of witnessing this smoothness for themselves.

Mentally, I scratched “shy” from the list of keywords I had used to mentally tag Ricky when I first saw him on Friendster. He began to talk openly about how he had originally received his porn name, and his friends who joined us for the second part of lunch seemed completely unfazed by the discussion. As I chewed on my mediocre lasagna, Ricky and his friends (two guys and a girl) conversed about friends, sex, porn, and surprisingly, church, which Ricky had attended that morning as a way of feeling better and getting his mind off the butt-waxing molestation incident.

On my way home on the MUNI, I smiled to myself as I reflected on this strange encounter. I never thought that a porn star would fit into the categories of people that I generally enjoy having as friends. What’s odd is that in conversations I’ve had with Ricky since that day, I’ve discovered that he’s a fairly stable, well-intentioned and empathetic person — exactly the type of person that I like having around.

At a time of my life when I’m constantly lacking confidence, I wonder if it was fate that dropped the most confident person I’ve ever met onto my doorstep. I like to think that people come into my life to teach me something about myself. Maybe a little of Ricky’s assertiveness will rub off on me.

I realize now that my new friend is not leading a “double life”, as he has no fear of being completely open about all aspects of his life - even ones that involve having sex for money on camera. Instead, he completely owns, accepts, and admits to this part of him with pride, rather than shame. In an almost blasé fashion, he describes it in purely capitalistic terms: “I’ve got something that people want, and will pay to see.”

Point taken.

The online threat du jour in today’s tale of horror and intrigue is MySpace. As a rabid opponent of the ugliest, most poorly designed site on the Internet, I was only forced to create an account because I wanted to view the accounts of my friends, who begged me to join. Because I fill in some non-required information (sexual orientation, for instance), I tend to get targeted by a lot of strange, unsolicited messages from complete strangers.

The most common messages that show up in my MySpace mailbox are from people with names like “HungBrandon” or “Top2Bottom” who are (or are posing as) porn stars, trying to acquire as many “friends” as possible. I usually deny those friend requests because I figure that the word “friend” should have at least a tiny bit of meaning. I don’t consider the lady who bags my groceries at Safeway a “friend”, and I’ve met her in person. Therefore, it’s silly to think that “Top2Bottom” is going to be on my friends list when he hasn’t even bagged my groceries.

Then, there is the type of message that I really loathe — the “let’s go for drinks even though I don’t know you” message from someone who I would never be even remotely attracted to. I know that this sounds snobby, and I generally feel quite bad for not replying to these strangers, but I usually don’t spend too much time thinking about it.

That all changed last week. But first, the background story. February 7, 2006, at 2:16am, I received this message on MySpace from someone I’d never seen or talked to before (personal info redacted out of respect):

Subject: your hella cute
Body: i wanted to say hello to you
CXXXX
408 417 XXXX

Although poor grammar is a deal-breaker for me, and I don’t much appreciate people thinking it’s okay to give me their phone number without even chatting with me first, I looked at his profile and decided to simply ignore the message. While I won’t go into to many details, his profile spends quite a bit of time (and poor spelling, and excessive amounts of bandwidth dedicated to pictures and movies of models, Frappucinos, and Pepperidge Farm Goldfish) explaining how he’s the “fun one” in his group, and how he makes “people show off their true humor in one self”. Uggh. So I didn’t reply. Yet, it didn’t end:

Date: March 14, 2006 8:06pm
Subject: hey cutie
Body: your hella cute and we should talk some more and hang out sometime
CXXXX
408 417 XXXX

Beyond the use of “hella”, can you guess what else is wrong with this picture? We should “talk some more”? We haven’t talked yet. AT ALL. Nor will we. EVER. Again, I ignored this unwanted solicitation. Yet still, he persists:

Date: April 19, 2006 3:27pm
Subject: hey steven
Body: i thought i say since i see you on myspace alot and never get around to saying hello, you are very handsome and if you want i wouldn’t mind talking to you a little more.
CXXXX

A much better attempt, with the use of the word “handsome”, but there’s no way I’m biting. You “never get around to saying hello”? You’ve already emailed me twice, and I’ve ignored you! And again, if we’ve never talked before, you can’t say we should talk “more”.

Although the saga of unwanted MySpace messages ends there, last week something substantially worse happened. I was out in the small park near my apartment walking Miss Cleo, my new chihuahua (who I owe a dedicated blog post, to come later). I had my earbuds in, and I was listening to one of my usual morning podcasts, when a total stranger approaches and starts staring at me and my dog.

After an awkward moment or two of this staring, I took my earbuds out.

The stranger asked, “Is your name Steven?”

“Yes,” I replied. “Do I know you?”

“No,” he said, “But I’ve seen you on MySpace.”

Then I recognized him. It was the unsolicited emailer. Standing there, approaching me randomly, in the park. Because I’m not rude, I tried to make brief small talk, and then I turned away to continue monitoring Miss Cleo to verify that she was doing her business. He just kept standing there, silent, for 30 seconds, staring at me.

Finally, he left. I reflected on this bizarre encounter for a few moments, and the more I thought about it, the more it irked and angered me. In the world of meeting people online, there is an unwritten rule that if you see someone from online who you recognize, and you’re not on familiar or friendly terms, you don’t approach them to meet them for the first time. It’s common courtesy. You don’t ever put someone on the spot like that. Especially someone who clearly has no intention of ever meeting you.

I’ve seen people from online before and I’ve chosen not to approach them because it’s wrong. Yet this socially handicapped crazy person felt that it was okay to approach me by myself in the park. I guess I’ll give him credit for having guts. But that’s where the credit ends and the fury begins.

I suppose I’ve learned a very important meta-lesson. However unrecognizable you think you are, there’s always the possibility that the wrong person from the Internet may see you and strike without warning. Then, the only thing you can do is think of some way to get out of it. Next time, I think I will just lie down on the ground and play dead until the attacker goes away. After all, it works on bears.

Maybe FOX will create a new special called When MySpace Freaks Attack. I’d be more than happy to participate in a reenactment of my brush with danger.

Tags: 360, friendster, hotornot, life, misscleo, myspace, online, rants

Tags: coachella, rants

Tomorrow I depart with Ernie and his friend Adam to meet up with Eric and his posse (or harem, perhaps) of what are certain to be tendy, beautiful SoCal boys so that we can party our asses off poolside at a luxurious Palm Springs vacation home, inbetween dancing our asses off at Coachella, SoCal’s most fabulous music festival.

The schedule is jam-packed for Saturday and Sunday and I’m going to get to see some artists I’ve never seen live, one that I have, and potentially a lot more that I’ve never even heard of. Here are some of the acts that have me nearly wetting myself:

• Depeche Mode - I can’t believe that I’ve never seen them live! Along with Erasure and the Pet Shop Boys, DM is one of those bands that has completely defined my taste musically, and for whatever reason, I’ve been missing them every single time I’ve had the chance to go.
• Madonna - Stereotype police! The reality is that Madonna puts on one hell of a show, and even though I’m going to be seeing her in San Jose in May, seeing her in the Sahara Dance Tent (a smaller venue for certain) is going to be as close to having her in my own living room as I will ever get without chloroform and duct tape.
• Scissor Sisters - *swoon* I’ve loved them since I first heard their album and their tracks are probably at the absolute top of every playlist I’ve ever made. And Jake Shears (a.k.a. Jason Sellards) shall someday be mine. It can’t come quickly enough.
• Mylo - I just recently discovered this DJ. His infectious song In My Arms samples Waiting for a Star to Fall by Boy Meets Girl, and Bette Davis Eyes by Kim Carnes. Any song that mixes these two cheesy 80s staples has got to be by someone who kicks some serious ass. And he went deaf briefly this year. How dramatic and deliciously tragic!
• She Wants Revenge - This band reminds me of Dead or Alive. Dark, a little bit dancey, and a tiny bit pained-sounding. I haven’t listened to most of their album, but the tracks I know are really intriguing.
• Bloc Party - I don’t need to elaborate on this one. New wave retro rock is still fashionable, no matter what anyone tells you.
• The Like - What I Say and What I Mean is the track by these hot rock chicks that got me really interested in their music. Girls who aren’t afraid to sweat and play guitar are hot.

There are also a few more artists I might be seeing (lord knows there are enough to choose from) but I will save that for after the show is over, the sweat stops flowing, and the porta-potty line shrinks to a manageable size.

Until then…

Tags: adam, bloc party, coachella, depeche mode, eric, ernie, hella, madonna, music, mylo, scissor sisters, she wants revenge, the like

Tags: berlin, disco, gay, germans, germany, twink

My birthday morning started with a 7:30am phone call from Kelsie, which I promptly ignored and silenced since I was trying to sleep in. She insisted later that she was only calling so early because she wanted to be the first one to leave me a birthday message, but sometimes I think that she forgets the Central-Pacific time difference.

With the amount of work I’ve been doing lately, I decided that I should at very least take one day to treat myself to some of the finer things in life — namely clothes shopping at Express, cake batter ice cream with almonds, caramel, and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups from Cold Stone Creamery, and a fancy-schmancy clay mask and some DKNY Be Delicious cologne from Sephora.

After my self-indulgent day of shopping and ice cream, I spent the evening consuming excessive amounts of alcohol (in the form of lemon drops, kamikaze shots, and Long Island iced teas) and singing my ass off at The Mint in San Francisco with friends and co-workers who went out of their way to make sure that I had a good time. Thanks to Nate, I had a drink in my hand for the entire night, which certainly kept things interesting.

The first (and only) member of my group (besides me) to go up to the mic was Andy, who did a stunning rendition of Sweet Transvestite from Rocky Horror. I had only heard about the magnificence of Andy’s well-rehearsed stage act, but finally getting to see it in person was quite the experience.

Thankfully, I had the forethought to capture part of his ground-breaking performance for all eternity so that I could present it here:

My songs were It Must Have Been Love by Roxette, and later in the evening, a very drunken rendition of Higher Love by Steve Winwood. What I remember most about the second song was that the words on the screen were highlighting a bit too fast for me to actually keep up with. I also could swear that a whole group of “fans” were clapping to the beat in the front, but I might have been having some sort of rock-star fantasy. Isn’t it sad that I would choose to have my rock star fantasy to a Steve Winwood song? … *sigh*

As the evening of karaoke tapered off and the posse began to leave, eventually only Andy and Adric and I were left. Someone had the clever idea to go to Badlands, so we stumbled for a few blocks to get there. I only really recall a few things:

• Andy meeting some Southern boy whose number he was upset that he didn’t get
• Adric wandering off to dance with someone he knew
• Discovering that there was a second bathroom at Badlands that I never knew about
• Feeling tired and wanting to leave (which Adric later described as me being “pouty”)

Andy drove us back to his place, where Adric & I crashed on his sofa bed and were awakened in the morning by Andy’s obnoxious roommate and his boyfriend, who felt the need to use every loud appliance possible while we were attempting to sleep. Before leaving, Adric and I had a lovely time trying to psychoanalyze the disfigured characters in the ugly art Andy’s roommate chose to hang above their television in the living room. The martini-holding, poorly dancing party-goers in the photo each had stories of their own — from the Romanian woman in the black dress who clearly was a manipulator, to the gay guy in the middle who was clearly the fifth wheel, to the subservient Asian girl in the red dress who would do whatever her Romanian friend told her to.

The burning question that everyone seems to ask at birthday-time is whether or not I feel any older. Honestly, I really haven’t had time to process it. I know that at this point I’m halfway through my twenties, but it doesn’t really bother me that much. I keep telling myself that thirty isn’t nearly as old as it used to be, but as I continue my march towards 3-0, we’ll see if I continue to feel that way. One of the things that I’ve learned from my father (who still looks great in his fifties) is that you’re really only as old as you allow yourself to be.

As long as I keep on singing, winning stuffed animals from claw machines, and watching cartoons, I don’t think I’ll grow up.

And that’s okay with me. Seriously.

Tags: adric, alcohol, andy, badlands, birthday, cold stone creamery, dkny, express, karaoke, kelsie, nate, rocky horror, shopping, the mint, youtube

While I lived in the New York metro area, I never got a chance to go and see any of Haring’s famous murals, but during my random web-surfing procrasturbation yesterday, I came across one that I had never even seen photos of before, titled crack is wack. This double-sided mural was painted in 1986 on a handball court at 128th St. and 2nd Avenue, and is still there today.

Besides the obvious Whitney Houston images that the mural’s catchphrase evokes, there was something about this public project that amused and inspired me. In an unrelated yet convenient crossing of coincidences, I was playing with Adobe Illustrator CS2, which has new features called Live Trace and Live Paint, which allow for the easy transposing of bitmap images into vector paths.

With some contrast adjustment, an hour or two of tweaking, I ended up coming up with an interpretation of crack is wack for my desktop that pleases me. I decided to use Live Paint to fill in some of the bright day-glo colors that Haring is known for, and added some reflection and depth to make it a little more interesting and eye-catching.

Tags: art, crack, graffiti, keith haring, murals, new york, new york city, procrasturbation, whitney houston

First, let me ‘fess up to something. I’m a total celebriwhore. If you don’t know what this word means, let me try to sum it up. A celebriwhore is someone who is interested in seeing a person solely for the sake of their fame. In terms of a celebrity like Tom Cruise, I can understand why someone might want to see him because he’s a good actor.

The truth is, I think I’ve only seen one of his movies in its entirety, War of the Worlds, and I really didn’t think it was even that good. No, I have not seen Top Gun. I walked out of Eyes Wide Shut. I don’t really understand why he wants the truth and Jack Nicholson tells him he can’t handle it. I don’t even know what movie that is.

That certainly didn’t stop me from going to sneak a peek at the circus.

Armed with my digital camera and telephoto lens, I got into the line that was stretching around the campus outside of our cafeteria, URL’s, and waited for about 30 minutes to get my spot in a very limited seating space. Little did I know that we would be waiting much longer.

My co-worker Jenny and I took our seats in the cafeteria, which was completely full of people. We were seated conveniently behind a giant gray pole that was directly blocking the stage, so some shifting would be necessary to actually be able to directly see the presentation without having to watch the giant projection screen.

While I snapped test photos to figure out the correct exposure settings for my camera, this endless loop of song clips played, cleverly featuring songs taken from Cruise’s movies. I would have to say that after hearing 30 seconds of Take My Breath Away no less than 72 times, I was a bit worn out. The presentation was supposed to start at 10:30. As 10:45 arrived, and then 11:00, something wasn’t right.

This perky lady (who was either one of Tom’s people or a Yahoo! person — I’m not sure) came out and said something to the effect of, “I know, I’m not Tom Cruise. [laughing to herself] Tom is *SO* cool that he flew his own small plane here, and he’s delayed by the weather! But he should be here shortly!”

At that point, a large crowd of people decided to walk out. After more waiting, our CEO Terry Semel came out to nervously explain the situation and keep us amused while we waited. We watched a dramatic 9-minute montage of Tom’s movies that was supposed to be what was playing when he made his entrance, and Mr. Semel continued to get messages in his earpiece about Tom’s status and whereabouts.

Everyone was excited when Tom finally arrived, in aviator glasses and all. Rather than trying to remember the event enough to give a play-by-play, let me share a few of the highlights:

• Tom flew a P51 Mustang WWII-era bomber plane into San Jose airport.
• He brought Katie Holmes with him. She is at least 13 months pregnant and looked like she was ready to burst. Had Tom flown commercially with her, he would have arrived on time.
• There was no mention of Scientology or South Park.
• Even in his women’s jeans, Tom did not set off my gaydar in the slightest.
• He jokingly stood on top of his chair to make fun of the controversy over his behavior on Oprah.
• He arm-wrestled Terry Semel in response to a (pre-submitted) question about which of them is more athletic.
• He presented the trailer for Mission Impossible 3, and two clips from the movie.
• After the event, Tom and Katie were escorted on a tour of the Yahoo! campus. They stayed on campus for several hours, actually.

NBC11 in San Francisco decided to use some of the photos I took during the event. You can see their write-up on the story, complete with my photos, here.

The only word I can use to describe how I felt after the event is: filthy.

Honestly, I couldn’t wash the stink off. It wasn’t because of anything Tom said or did. I felt slimy for taking pictures of the guy just because he’s a celebrity. I think I’ve discovered why I can’t live in L.A. When the entire thing was over, I felt incredibly drained. Tom was very polite, and seemed like a good guy overall, but the fuss that was made over his visit made me a little sick to my stomach. I guess the concept of “celebrity” is just so deeply burned into our collective American conscience that there’s not escaping the excitement of it.

Perhaps I learned an important lesson about the utter absurdity of fame: That several hundred very smart people could be turned into drooling zombies over the prospect of seeing a celebrity talk about his career.

You can see the original versions of the photos I took here, and photos taken by other Yahoos here.

UPDATE: Thanks to one of my favorite blogs, Defamer, for linking to my photo! [Link: Tom Cruise Goes Yahoo] 

Tags: celebrity, fame, guilt, katie holmes, life, mission impossible 3, movies, nbc11, p51 mustang, scientology, south park, terry semel, tom cruise, yahoo

In New York City, this was really nothing strange. One out of every three people on the bus, subway, or street would be plugged into an entertainment device of some sort. I think it may be a side effect of New Yorkers’ notorious anti-social mentality. It is a city, after all, where you’re advised not to look anyone in the eye on the subway.

I discovered early in my iPod-listening days that walking around constantly plugged in also can have its dangers. For instance, you can’t hear someone approaching you from behind, or (in my case) the subway zooming up along the track beside the platform that you’re walking dangerously close to. Feeling the train graze my elbow when I didn’t even hear it coming woke me up to the danger very quickly.

Now that I’m in California, the iPod-walk takes on a whole new meaning. I now plug myself into music even while I’m shopping at Target. While everyone else is listening to screaming children, arguing couples, and other generally annoying people, I’m enjoying the Pet Shop Boys.

People seem quite puzzled by my behavior, though. They walk up to me and start asking if I need help, or asking me other various questions, and I have to slowly remove my earbuds and ask them to repeat the question. Usually it’s something completely irrelevant, boring, or obnoxious, and I just go back to listening to my music.

For those of you who haven’t experienced this yet, try it! You’ll be shocked at how much more tolerable a trip to Fry’s is when you can’t hear it.

Tags: iPod, new york, rant, shopping, subway