JUL 32
voices
MAY 6. 20)1
I fancy myself someone on top of things. I
read the news incessantly; I’m constantly pe
rusing music sites; I’m consumed by politics,
despite the ever-glacial pace. Apparently I’m a
sucker for rhetoric. That said, what I’m not apt
to obsess over are the latest technological
marvels—I blame being a child of the ‘90s,
futilely straddling both old and new, longing
for the tactile (books, please, not Kindle) while
longing for (but maintaining safe distances
9 from) advances I never fully fathom or con
done. Case in point: phone apps, like Grindr.
Last spring, during my birthday weekend,
my two best friends and I wandered San Fran
cisco’s sunny, exquisite, men-lined streets.
Both friends drained (and re-drained) their
phone batteries throughout the trip, never let
ting a moment to Grindr slip away. No, I don't
•» need to g o back to the hotel, I’d say. I haven't been
w a stin g my battery perusing online rum m age
sales. God forbid anyone spend a moment
separated from the city’s best torso screen
shots. I heckled mercilessly.
While my friends mastered the art of beg
ging “Please stop,” I mastered imitating what I
consider Grindr’s biggest (made-up) miss: a hy
pothetical Big Brother homing beacon, whose
rhythm increases in frequency as objects of de
sire approach. It’s a relentless beep, insatiable
until thirsts are quenched. My notoriously loud
mouth ran whenever I noticed Grindr open,
and it didn’t stop until acquiescence came, usu
ally via the off switch or by finding safe distances
from my stubborn vitriol, which transcended
r
WWW.JUSTOUT.COM
Don’t Call It an Apology:
Lady about Grindr
n
lady about m
fc,;
B Y D AN IEL B O R G E N
If most of the world is already
dissecting us—and they are, why
can’t we cut each other some slack?
Grinding or drinking, why condemn?
city. Anyone who knew me w ell suspected (cor
rectly), on some level, my mockery was borne of
jealousy. I longed, but didn’t dare try.
I’ve since succumbed and joined the revolu
tion. M y favorite Grindr hotspots? Portland’s
bars—say a Sunday afternoon at Silverado
(the love-it-tf/zd'-hate-it bar, like the ex you
feign apathy toward but fuck behind closed
doors).Tbere, I’ll quick draw my phone, fire up
the app and wave it around, scanning people
like they’re alien races in episodes of Star Trek.
No, you're not the one. No, not you either. Friends
remind me, “Daniel, that doesn’t help Toad
more guys.’” Perhaps not, but I sure enjoy pa
trons’ reactions and pretending it does. Grindr,
though, soon becomes a sea awash with too-
familiar faces—and chests, proving most use
ful searching for out-of-town talent.
clubs—that disposition transcends sexuality.
W hat I can’t understand is the facet of our
population unabashedly loathing certain hab
its, those who reserve so much bitterness and
anger toward people who are, like it or not, al
lies. Is it a more intense version of my former
Grindr-jealousy? Maybe they’re outside look
ing in, secretly wanting to participate, but
can't. Is it simply self-loathing, an inability to
live and let live, finding odd comfort (or com
placency) in back-and-forth judgment? If
most of the world is already dissecting us—
and they are, why can’t we cut each other some
slack? Grinding or drinking, why condemn?
It’s perfectly fine, even healthy, to gather in
groups, commiserate, revel in one another’s
company—in any bar. Who cares if it’s a gay
strip club? I don’t believe strippers actually
love me because I’m shoving sweaty one dollar
bills in their panties, so what’s the harm? Our
distinct gay experiences boast eerily similar
characteristics—universal ones: struggles to
love, be loved, shirking endless oppression,
troubling family dynamics, the ability to em
pathize with those who can’t count on even
remotely accepting family scenarios. To hide
from that camaraderie—or discount it—is too
bleak, bleaker even than fellow gays hating
those who drink beers with friends at gay bars
on Sunday afternoons. J0]
During a trademark Sunday outing, my
friends and I scoured Grindr, comparing our
vast experiences. One particular friend who has
yet to take the plunge—he’ll remain nameless
for propriety’s sake—found a screenshot partic
ularly alluring. I invited the Grindr beau out.
He asked where we were and I, unashamed, re
vealed our location (though a homing beacon
would have been easier). My disclosure provided
him the impetus for an unexpected tirade.
He ranted about “us gays” being “funda
mentalists on par with militant Christians.” I
relayed goings-on play-by-play to those
around me, tossing a volley of queries at him.
Please explain, because I'm certain I didn't pass
Sarah Palin in the bathroom. Apparent rather
quickly: He abhorred all things gay. He de
clared, “All you gays do is frequent strip clubs,
gay bars and bathhouses.” Oh yes, I replied. I
ju s t ren ew ed my Steam membership w hile order-
in g my last beer. Although his was a particu
larly dramatic vein of distaste, it represents an I also believe i f you do any am ount o f shit-talking
unmistakable, real divide.
on Grindr, you should show you r fa ce. A nonymity
I understand general distaste for bars or isn’t courageous. Email daniel @ justo ut . co m .
V
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