I’m not sure how I feel about the latest web site designed for use with modern hand-held devices through which a stunningly easy means is provided for relatively anonymous sexual activity to be achieved between guys and any other available guy(s) who may quickly be reached by skateboard. One such system, designed for use on a cellular telephone with advanced GPS features capable of launching intercontinental missile bombardments, is called “Grindr.” [Proper spelling has, evidently, been scarified for hand-help Internet devices in order to free up essential memory space desperately needed to send Facebook updates that are crucial to everyone interested in the fact that you feel a sneeze coming on but have decided to continue with your life despite your impending sinus crisis—I believe there’s even an appropriate smiley face icon to accompany that exact status.]At the risk of giving away my age here, the big technology when I was a preadolescent were microwave ovens and VCRs, both of which—I unfortunately discovered as a youth—were comparatively useless in the pursuit of getting laid. Some of you might be a tad young to be familiar with VCRs: They’re sort of like DVD players only, instead of video disks, they play movies that were recorded on tape cassettes roughly the size of pizza boxes. Nowadays, though, VCRs primarily provide spare parts for the manufacture of automatic Post-It printers.
I’m not really all that savvy with cellular devices. I got mine quite by chance: it was featured in a Burger King Kids Meal. So, the applications provided by my cell phone are somewhat limited. For instance, my cell phone isn’t capable of some of the more common features found today, such as Internet browsing, CIA strategy access, laser-guided projectile software, or remote spy plane operation.
Regardless of the fact that Fred Flintstone had the same type of phone that I now own, my nieces and nephews still keep sending me text messages in a language that, I believe, is a form of Hindi. “HowRU?” is one message they send. Sometimes I try to text them back but the only reply I ever get is “LMAO!” or “AFAICT” or “AMBW“ or “Are U drunk?” which, I’m assuming, means they’ve either dropped their phone into the sink or are typing with their earlobes.
So, Grindr is, from what I understand, an interactive cell phone program whereby one might register oneself using various items of personal information that are not wholly unrestrained prevarications and also include a provocative photograph, preferably of one’s actual self and not so touched up as to suggest one’s skin is made of linoleum. Once a personal profile is completed on Grindr, then, evidently it’s possible to view other prevaricated information attached to thumbnail photographs taken by Bruce Weber. Should, by chance, one of these random hand-held computer thumbnail images strike your fancy, a casual meeting can be immediately arranged where final judgment of each individual will take place followed by intense sexual activity normally performed in any private-ish space available, such as janitorial supply rooms, department store dressing areas, or church confessionals.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. Actually, it was just now with this guy right here—what’s your name again? Oh, yeah. Brent. Brent and I have just sinned. About two minutes ago. Four times. Someone really should get a mop.”
Being something of a techno-Neanderthal, I just got used to using Facebook. I tried with MySpace, but then that site went out of vogue. I’ve been totally averse to Manhunt and Adam for Adam since I’ve found it’s very difficult to meet anyone on those sites who shares my extreme interests in American literature and bookmark collecting.
Dating has also been affected by Grindr, I believe. Normally, I’m not all that bothered when a date responds to a text message or two during dinner or a movie, but now, when he casually excuses himself, I have to wonder if his temporary absence isn’t because he’s getting it on with the pastry chef. Sometimes I’m not so subtle when I question them upon their return.
“What’s that on your shirt? Flour?”
“Uh...no. It’s, um...cocaine.”
“Wheh! That’s a relief. Hey, do you want to split a calzone?”
Not only that, but I sincerely have trouble imagining a healthy relationship developing after a Grindr encounter.
“Hey, would you like to get a drink or some coffee or something?”
“Wish I could, dude, but I’d probably better get back to work.”
That would be a very valid reason to part company, if said individual didn’t appear as “available” on Grindr four minutes after turning the corner.
By far, I think that Grindr has become one of the most efficient ways to attain anonymous sex. It’s far cheaper than RentBoy.com, I’ll tell ya that. [I read that on the Internet; I rarely rent boys anymore—I’m trying to cut back.]
Now the obvious problem. What if Grindr tells you that there’s a hot and interested guy who’s only 1200 feet away from you. And then what if said guy turns out to be your minister? “I was just making a list of the lost souls for whom I plan to pray this week.”
Uh huh.
Novelist Joshua Dagon is the author of Into the Mouth of the Wolf, The Fallen, and Demon Tears. For more information, please go to www.joshuadagon.com. To contact Mr. Dagon, please e-mail him at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it .
