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Then I would get to the point and ask him what in the hell this app really was. Is this the way straight men and women—especially straight women—want to meet and mate?
So a whole dumb show would ensue, in which we silently gestured at each other across the café or bar—first quizzically, then in some weird, fake recognition, as if, oh, how we went back, such memories, and things like that. It's a mad ambition, and I had no idea if Blendr would work.
The screen would blink into a checkerboard of guys' pictures—whole armies of men who were within a mile of me, many right next door, and I could those distances, for I was the Lord. Someone would message "Sup." Without even missing a beat, I'd come back with "How are you?
" (I spelled it all out, eschewing the "R U," because, you know, being said!
Less darkly, what happened to the good old dinner party, the comically bad set-up date, the meet-cute fender bender? I'd soon learn that grinders weren't always bathroom-trysting and Rusty Tromboning and doing Japanese nose-torture on each other.
Now the tech visionary who founded Grindr is launching a version for straight people. I'd be milling around a trendy Sunset Boulevard dive, or lounging in a French Roast restaurant about a block from where I live in Manhattan. The photos came in a few varieties: guys trying hard to look really bored though super-cool; nude, hirsute torsos; guys doing that ridiculous bathroom-mirror self-portrait in which the subject always looks surprised even though he himself has just snapped the shot.
I'd take out my device and tap on the black-and-yellow tribal-mask logo of Grindr, an app that lets guys use GPS to meet other guys who are ten steps away or a hundred. Guys calling themselves "Hard" and "Hung 2 Hang" offered cheery requests pertaining to the act of love: "Top bunk, don't be a fuckin' girl, 420-friendly."The Chat, too, was of the highest quality.