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).
Matthew Hunt
★★★★⭐ 11/12/2014
It's gotten me laid on several occasions.
However it left me feeling so empty and
alone because sex is nothing without
love. Also 7/10 times it doesn't notify
me when i have a message.
Simply devastating. The narrative is clear. What could be more significant about one's sexual conquests than the fact that they happened? There is nothing truer than the truth of copulation. The occasions he refers to are not defined externally (for instance, a birthday party, a wedding, a ba(t/r) mitzvah) but are established ipso facto the "laying," i.e. the getting laid is itself the only justification necessary for a so-called "occasion." But ironically, this generative act of getting laid is not an occasion after all, for it instantaneously becomes cause for regret.
Tinder's characteristically Pagan promise of free love becomes just another guise for conventional Christian morality, delivering up freshly steaming self-loathing and shame with every successive sex act. Yet the app is still rated 4 stars!?! Thus the shame and emptiness was the actual goal all along. Matthew never wanted love in the first place and the reader's interpretation is turned on its head! Hence the doubled irony of the final line, for how can he maximize his sexual self-loathing if he is not even timely notified of opportunities for further masochistic fulfillment?
But then, what is more masochistic than being prevented from experiencing the very masochism you crave? And on what day in particular are all these affairs of the mind and the cock and the spirit likely to come to an orgasmically confused head? Let me submit to you, pending approval: November the twelfth, two-thousand and fourteen years after the birth of our savior, a day which can ONLY be, now and FOREVERMORE, a Wednesday.
Mr. Hunt has several more pieces in the works, each more radical than the last, rumored to include a scathing 5 star review of Facebook (where he considers the idea that many Facebook friends are not actually your friends), a series of failed edits on the wikipedia article on Dragonball Z compiled in his new book titled "This is How You Lose Her by Junot Diaz", and (if time permits in his busy schedule) an empty comment on a prominent youtube video. He resides in a small cottage in upstate New York with his two cats and is an avid birdwatcher in his free time.
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