Ah, where were we all on November 12, 2014? It was a Thursday, and sure, all Thursdays have that certain something about them, an impression refined by degrees in our subconscious into a kind of distilled Thursday-ness that echoes within each Thursday like a kind of anthem mouthed wordlessly from the moment of awakening until the eyelids, finally, must close.
And it is only those who have, by mistake, sung this silent hymn of Thursday on some other day who can really become aware of its lines and stanzas and refrains, for they are only made apparent by the striking dissonance of their clashing with the true day's own respective melody. Yet sometimes, in a moment of extraordinary good luck, when that Thursday song sounds, though wrongly, within the context of another day, it somehow becomes more right than it ever could be in its proper weekly context, bolstered by its very atonal mismatch into something that transcends "Thursday" to become what we must authentically recognize as an entirely different day of the week, a peculiar one whose essence lies in just such a discordance. I am speaking, of course, about Wednesday. For November 12, 2014 was indeed a Wednesday.
Could it be that the strange nature of this day worked its way into the mind of one Mr. Matthew Hunt, and allowed him to express so succinctly not just his estimation of an app (which he awarded, significantly, 4 of 5 semiotic star representations) but also a biting critique of the collective soul of (wo)mankind.
And now the review itself, of the Tinder app, full and unabridged, in the key of Wednesday (which is itself a precarious corruption of the key of Thursday, need I remind you).
