I have been opposed to using Tinder. The idea of accepting or rejecting people on the basis of their appearance seems to me (as a person aging away from the intersection of technology and culture) to be an ugly, depersonalizing, objectifying practice.
Then, of course, I found myself at home for whatever-night-in-a-row with Jane Austen, Chester Himes and Haruki Murakami and, good as they are, two of them are dead, one is Japanese and none of them are going to fuck me. Say what you like about casual sex; there is no better way to stave of the chill of existential angst. Continue reading