singles exposed

[February 13th, 2002]

Portland is way single. According to the 2000 Census, there are close to a quarter-million of you flying solo around Stumptown. Portland hangs with Seattle, San Francisco and Boston in the proportion of non-married types walking its streets.

With that in mind, we offer an entire package of stories devoted to the non-devoted: First, we take a look at the state of singledom by the numbers with a package of single stats; then we give you reports from a handful of singles we sent off one night to Portland's best meat markets (Banana Joe's, Lush and the Egyptian Club, among others) to try to get lucky; humorist Cynthia Heimel exorcises the alleged shame of being single in an excerpt from her just-released book Advanced Sex Tips for Girls; Portlanders tell us their favorite pick-up lines; and we rate the new breed of television dating shows. While Valentine's Day purports to celebrate the couples of the world, we at Willamette Week salute the singles who dare to brave it alone.

is 1 the loneliest number?
Portland is more single than New York City. What are you whining about?
BY PHILIP DAWDY PDAWDY@WWEEK.COM AND ARIEL HANSEN AHANSEN@WWEEK.COM

When you're single, it's easy to believe you're the only one. You look around and everyone seems to be hanging on to someone else. No one else could be suffering the way you are. Oh, the pain!

Calm down, loser--you're not so special. Portland is the sixth most single place in America when you're looking at large towns, according to the U.S. Census Bureau. More news from our favorite government accountants: Proportionately, there are more singles in Stumptown than in New York City. That's right: We beat out the setting of Sex in the City for hanging loose. So there.

You are not alone in being alone. Follow along as we guide you through the enriching world of single statistics that we squeezed out of Portland demographer Gina Clemmer of Smart Girl Technologies.

Distribution of Single Households By Neighborhood

Single Households, Multnomah County = 59%
Single Households, Portland = 62%

MAP BY GINA CLEMMER

1. Eliot 2. Lloyd District 3. Sullivan's Gulch 4. Kerns 5. Buckman 6. Downtown 7. Old Town/Chinatown 8. Pearl 9. NW District 10. Goose Hollow 11. Overlook 12. Humboldt 13. Boise 14. Woodlawn 15. Vernon 16. King 17. Sabin 18. Concordia 19. Piedmont 20. Kenton 21. Portsmouth 22. Irvington 23. Hollywood 24. Center 25. Sunnyside 26. Richmond 27. Creston-Kenilworth 28. Foster-Powell 29. Mount Scott-Arietta 30. Reed 31. Brooklyn 32. Hosford-Abernathy 33. Sellwood-Moreland 34. Corbett-Terwilliger 35. Homestead 36. Arlington Heights 37. NW Industrial 38. Multnomah

Dark Gray, Lots of Singles (more than 80% of all households) Light Gray, A Fair Amount (60 to 80% of all households) White, Slim Pickings (less than 60% of all households)

Singles Stats:

Portland
*Come and knock on our door... More than a third of Portlanders have never been married, according to Clemmer. We're keeping pace with cities like Seattle, San Francisco and Boston.

*Power in numbers... Since 1990, Portland's single, never-married population has grown by 20 percent, after correcting for population growth, says Clemmer.

*The neighborhood with the greatest concentration of single men is... Old Town/Chinatown. After taking into consideration the large number of single-room occupancies that make up Portland's Skid Row in Old Town, it's the Pearl District at 53 percent (but don't think they're all woman-seeking missiles).

*If you're looking for the ladies, follow your nose to... the Lloyd District, which has the highest concentration of single women with a whopping 50 percent. Next in line is neighboring Sullivan's Gulch at 49 percent.

*The most living-in-sin neighborhood in Portland is... the shacking-up haven of Buckman, with a whopping 12 percent of residents cohabiting.

*Where lesbians unpack their U-Hauls... Rose City has the highest concentration of lesbian couples in Portland, according to the Census Bureau.

*Well, aren't these lawns tidy... Overlook has the highest concentration of gay male couples in the city, says the Census Bureau.

The Nation
*We're Here, We're Freer, Get Used to It... The census bureau predicts that by 2010 nearly one-quarter of the United States population will fit in the category "never married."

*Single? It's going to cost you... In 2000, the average income nationally for a single person (with no children) was $21,033, while married couples raked in an average of $74,126.

*Ripped off... Single men are paid as much as 40 percent less than married men.

*Dress down... Single men spend 31 percent less on clothes than single women.

*Pass the pad Thai, please... Singles spend $1,236 a year on food prepared away from the home, compared to the $812 married couples slap down at restaurants.

*Multiplicity... Between 1970 and 1996, the number of women living alone doubled from 7.3 million to 14.6 million. The number of men living alone nearly tripled from 3.5 million to 10.3 million.

*If you are single, you will die... sooner. Ninety percent of married or widowed women live to 65, but only 60 percent of divorced and never-married women live that long. Among the males, 90 percent of married men live to 65; 70 percent of unmarried men live that long.

*Virginia is for... Never-married singles take only 21 percent of all vacations, while married couples gobble up 61 percent.

*Putting out... In 2001, 75 percent of unmarried women had had sex. In 1963, 75 percent of unmarried women were virgins.

5singles 5bars
A vicarious stroll through one evening at Portland's meat markets. We get bloody so you don't have to.

#1 Catching Digits at Banana Joe's
BY STACY ISON * SISON@WWEEK.COM

We heard that Banana Joe's was a meat market, full of 'N Sync groupies. Lola and I, two mature twenty-something Scorpios dressed in New York-chic black, were not hopeful. I quickly blocked out the Caribbean decor and spotted Banana Hos wearing hip-huggers and belly shirts, trying to dance like strippers on the long bar--it was Coyote Ugly sans coyote.

In a scene like this, we chose to cut to the chase. A sandy-haired frat type was our first sting. Lola swaggered over and asked breathily, "Would you like to have sex with me and my friend?"

Stunned, I tell you. "Uh, yeah. Uh, but I've been celibate for four months, and, uh, I don't know...." We left him with his lip on the floor and approached a black guy, "Jay," who was resoundingly in the affirmative and told us to wait for his friend. So we got his number and entered the dance floor for more indirect approaches.

It didn't take long to learn that if you stick your butt out a little and grind into a guy's thigh--subtly, of course--as he passes by, he's going to stop. We made the night of a group of boys, who looked like they were Lake Oswego High School seniors, as they danced in a circle. We promptly freaked our way inside and sandwiched one precious peach. After we left, we could hear the screams of the excited young ones across the dance floor, as the peach turned into a beet.

"Oh my gawd, I love this song!" Yes, it was the beginning of a lovely ass medley, comprising "Da Butt," "Baby Got Back" and "Back that Ass Up." I climbed up to dance on the bar. I seemed to be the only one in the place who actually knew how to do Da Butt, and that got us a lot of attention--especially from a blond woman who kept staring at me and waving. I could have had her if I wanted to.

We left shortly after my set on the bar and found that we'd actually had a good time. No, we didn't get any, but we did confirm that Jay gave us his real digits. So, if you're looking to dance dirty or have a one-night stand, get your ass in line on Northwest 2nd Avenue. It definitely felt good to fulfill the Banana Ho that I know is in all of us.

Banana Joe's, 9 NW 2nd Ave., 227-0100.

#2 Older Men--and Even Older Songs--at Boogie Woogie's
BY ALISON HUGHES * AHUGHES@WWEEK.COM

The moment I walked in the door, free champagne was shoved in my face in honor of the first anniversary of Portland's only dueling-pianos bar, Boogie Woogie's. I arrived with my girls, all of us in our early 20s, most of us into artsy boys who can hold a conversation past "Ducks or Beavers?"

As we sat down to get comfy, we were immediately asked to stand for a throaty rendition of "The Star Spangled Banner." OK, that was weird. Still, as a single girl on the make, I'm always looking for opportunities; I used our national anthem as an excuse to scope out the crowd. I saw one or two boys I could get down with, but it was a complete bust otherwise.

My posse was the youngest by at least six years, but this 30-plus crowd can party. In the first five minutes, one of my girls--let's call her Blondie--spotted a buzzcut Army-type guy--let's call him Sgt. Scary. So Blondie made her way over to Scary, and within 10 minutes they decided they were going to go home together. Their conversation consisted mostly of how good-looking they both were. Being a righteous friend, I asked for Scary's credentials. He told me he made good money, had a good job, drove a brand-new Tahoe and lived alone in a nice house. I wasn't thrilled about smarmy Scary, but I can't tell a grown woman what to do. As I waved farewell, another pal got up to swing dance with a Jimmy Stewart look-alike--only there isn't a dance floor to speak of. Watching people bump into tables, waitresses and drinks was better than vaudeville.

I may have left empty-handed, but my friends had a great time. Boogie Woogie's is a place where drunkards join in dirty renditions of classics by Guns 'N' Roses, John Cougar and Elton John; where twentysomethings can mingle and go home with thirtysomethings; where married men feel it's all right to hit on nearly every woman there; but, most importantly, where you can have fun without taking yourself too seriously.

Boogie Woogie's, 915 SW 2nd Ave., 417-8717.

#3 Body Rockin' at Berbati's
BY DREW WINCHESTER * DWINCHESTER@WWEEK.COM

I had made it to Berbati's with a clan of true weekend warriors for Body Rock, a special DJed event that runs once a month at the club, and my guys assured me that we all were V.I.P.-bound. I wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but I forked over the $10 cover anyway.

The club, which usually hosts rock bands, had morphed into a huge annex of booze, lights, half-naked bodies, smoke, movement, blaring pop hits, confusion, hormones and general mating rituals...not necessarily in that order.

We did, in fact, have access to a V.I.P. section. This guarded, two-tiered carpeted area with faux stone pillars and fluffy benches seemed to have a strange effect on the young ladies, as those in attendance that night were drawn to it like passing motorists to an accident.

I had fleeting, liquor-fueled conversations with strangers most of the night; soon all the cleavage-spouting, long-blond-haired girls started to look the same.

Then the guy I was talking to suddenly burst into a wild search for something underneath the table in front of us.

"Goddammit, dog!" he screamed, almost spilling his drink. "That was my only shit! My E, dog! My half a hit! I dropped the shit down there somewhere. It was on my lap, and I brushed it off."

"In your lap? Just take the other half."

"I can't. I gave it to my boy over here." He pointed to the guy next to him, who had a beaming smile and was sitting with two girls. I could understand why losing it disappointed him.

I helped him look, but he eventually gave up--and when he left, I found the hit, half crushed on the seat next to me. I ate it quickly, making sure no one saw me. It was then I decided that maybe the ritualistic orgy lifestyle wasn't all that bad. But it wasn't all that good, either: With or without a buzz, I had no desire to graze at the flesh buffet.

I left soon after that, feeling the same as I had when I got there: bored. Which is the desired effect, I suppose. A quick dose of uninhibited desperation dulls the reality of the true desperate nature of everyday living.

Berbati's Pan, 231 SW Ankeny St., 248-4579.

#4 Walk Like A Lesbian--At The Egyptian Club
BY CORI TARATOOT * BSCHAEFFER@WWEEK.COM

Lush. The name alone inspires utopian visions of sculpted men clad in Armani and Sex and the City-cool women sipping dirty martinis and cosmos. A Saturday night sojourn to this bar with a pal proved it worthy of such anticipation. Lush stands out in Old Town with its sleek, industrial decor, smoke-free environment and clientele of young professionals. The men of Lush seem to possess a nouveau riche flavor that's more Wall Street circa 1985 than Portland transit mall circa 2002.

In the hulls of Lush lies a true singles' mecca. Dimly lit by unobtrusive red light, people mix, mingle, rub bodies and share drinks. I ordered a lemon drop for $5, and a well-built man, cleanly shaven and dressed in all black, sauntered up to us and in a hushed tone asked, "Where the party at?" Unaccustomed to such smooth delivery of an otherwise tacky line, we were rendered speechless. Wishing to rest our wobbly knees, we hunted for a seat amid the low couches and high-back chairs; a near catfight ensued with a mouthy blonde who tried to claim dominion over a table. "I believe I was here first," she sniffed. A withering stare and hiss from my friend ensured the table was ours. While proactivity would have yielded more potential mates, we did not go unnoticed as we sipped our drinks and just looked hot.

A Mardi Gras-beaded member of a birthday entourage tried to regale us with high-school stories, and an overage surgeon proved his worth by reciting verse in French. Perhaps the most interesting part of the evening, however, was catching former University of Oregon quarterback Joey Harrington, surrounded by a gaggle of fawning women but furtively eyeing our pair. My partner in crime and the effect of the lemon drop inspired me to bat my eyes at him. I found my stare returned, but we decided to leave him to his harem.

All told, Lush is a haven for those too old to appreciate the Backstreet Boys and too painfully cool to venture south of West Burnside; it's a place where being famous is more than enough to get you laid, and pretending you are might be good enough, too.

Lush, 610 NW Couch St. 223-5874.

The Alleged Shame of Solo
BY CYNTHIA HEIMEL

You may remember humorist Cynthia Heimel from novels such as Get Your Tongue Out of My Mouth, I'm Kissing You Goodbye and If You Can't Live Without Me, Why Aren't You Dead Yet? She first unleashed her Sex Tips for Girls version 1.0 in 1983. Now she's back, almost 20 years wiser, with Advanced Sex Tips for Girls. Here's a peek:

Too damned many of us who are alone feel so ridiculously all grim and secretive about our loneliness.

How the hell can we not? Every fucking minute there is an article in TV Guide about some poor, beleaguered dramatic-series star who has recently broken up with her husband and she is so wounded, so resolutely brave in the face of the awful tragedy that has struck her life that it's amazing she doesn't just swallow hemlock and get it over with.

But what's even worse, if you ask me, are the women's magazines' "Joys of Singlehood"-type pieces. You know, the ones made up of lists that say that single women:

* Can eat anything! Whenever we like! No pesky mealtimes!

* Eat cake icing right out of the can! With our fingers!

* Make a horrible unsightly mess anywhere in the house with no one to see! Five-day-old sandwiches and everything!

* Walk around all naked! Nobody can see hideous
cellulite! Never again have to shave legs!

* Say good-bye to contact lenses! Panty hose! Hot rollers! Toothpaste!

* Say hello to incessant farting!

* Have a vibrator that always works, doesn't need beer!

These stories always end up with our narrator having an epiphany. She always dreaded being alone, but it wasn't bad! It was good! Now she was all spiritual and in tune with lunar cycles and the earth mother! Or else she was plucky! Plucky, forsooth!

Naturally these passive-aggressive stories give me The Panic. I'll be sitting around, reading a nice fashion magazine, and read a piece called, maybe, "Alone! But Not Lonely!" and a grave anxiety will grip my stomach and I'll feel as if I'm hurtling into space. Is it just me?

...We don't have to do this! We can say "TCHAH!" and "Nerts!" and "Blow me!" to the cruel and unusual society-produced shame about being alone. We can throw off the stigma of solo! We can snap our fingers playfully and possibly even poke at the eyes of those who imply there is something wrong with us if we don't have men!

Then, and only then, will we be able to feel our own unfettered loneliness and look it squarely in the eyeball.

THERE IS NO SHAME IN BEING LONELY! WE ARE ALLOWED TO WANT A MATE! A MATE IS A GOOD THING IF HE OR SHE IS NOT PLAGUED WITH PESKY BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER!

What happens when a guy says he is lonely? Is he shunned or shamed? No! He is inundated with casseroles! Everyone wants to take care of him!

...It's the shame that will make you sick and full of self-loathing. Own your loneliness. Share your loneliness with others. Bring your desperation in from out of the cold. If you do this, your self-esteem won't let you believe that you are really in love with ex-cons with love and hate tattooed on their knuckles. If you do this, you will be able to discern the difference between being in love and simply getting laid.

From Advanced Sex Tips for Girls by Cynthia Heimel. Copyright © 2002 by Cynthia Heimel. Reprinted by
permission of Simon & Schuster Inc., N.Y.