The ladies certainly wouldn't treat Chat the same way; they'd be euphemistic and vaguely lyrical (I hoped) while the males were doing something close to grunting. From a female standpoint, that might be seen as one romantic step away from being spirited into a van.
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.
As any grinder knows, someone who doesn't supply even a fake or a ridiculously old pic is to be shunned at all costs.
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.
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?
To be a grinder, unlike with or e Harmony or Ok Cupid or any of the other doddering old i Date sites, you need register no name, no password—not even a screen name.
Those other sites are proud of asking for massive detail.
They actually market themselves on the thoroughness of their interrogations: What are your favorite sports, your taste in movies, your eye color?
They have it all down to a science, selling their sites on that old adage, "Similars attract." On Grindr, you are permitted to write a 120-character profile and upload a photo, and that's pretty much all you get to spark that digital First Look Across the Room.It was a revelation: "I could In June 2008, when Apple unveiled the i Phone 3G, it blew the mind of every techie in this country.The app store meant that there was suddenly a new industry out there—a thousand new industries.I was honest, yet some men still treated me like a trespasser.One guy spent a pleasant half hour at a restaurant regaling me with stories—then, learning I wasn't gay, very politely stood, silently folded his cloth napkin, and exited the building.(You know who you are.) The whole thing was confusing, mainly because one's brain isn't built to process hundreds of stories in a few months. He strolled into the lobby and swiveled his head twice quickly. In the realm of i Dating, he's a bit of a rock star.