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.
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?
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.
exact location, I could see him on a map, too, in the shape of a red pushpin.
I knew to expect only one thing when our dot and pushpin met: that the guy wouldn't look much like his tiny picture. But the Grindr team, in September, was launching a new app, Blendr—which was not just for gay guys but for Everybody.
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.
My deep misunderstanding of Chat was that it was meant to be witty, an actual conversation. Over the months, I learned the mysteries of this strange realm: its customs, its argot, and its social hierarchies.
But eventually I realized that the "Sup" people were not cavemen. They were men in a rush to achieve, and that's what men like to think they do. For instance, in my countless conversations with countless guys, only one man who ever identified himself on his page as a Bottom ever responded to me; Tops almost always did.
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 ensure that no user of Grindr ever felt hoodwinked, I took the name "GQ Magazine" and used as my icon a collage of covers, though I was slightly worried that grinders would think I was hawking subscriptions in some kind of seedy jailhouse telemarketing scheme. Though it is 96 percent inane, it's not all sexting and Weinering pics to people.
Many guys started a conversation with the aforementioned "Sup? " I admit, I looked down on them, as one would on "mole people" or Michael "The Situation" Sorrentino.
(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.