2008 Woodie Awards
A Walk on the Wild Side
I immerse myself in great danger for your entertainment
Joseph Newhard
Issue date: 1/12/07 Section: Culture
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I heard these words uttered from an unknown patron entering a club one recent Saturday night, and truer words have never been spoken. On our left, a female was bound to a rack and being flogged like 17th century heretic. On our right, a male was being electro-shocked by an enchanting young nymphet. A crowd had gathered, I included, standing fixated on the whole scene.
We were at The Outland, a club on the south side of Columbus which sits inside an old grocery store near Clipper Stadium. That may be an unusual location for a club, but The Outland is anything but typical; it is a club that caters to goths and anyone else interested, or addicted, to the BDSM lifestyle. When a friend recently told me that we needed to hang out more often, it is doubtful he had this place in mind.
BDSM of course is the combination of three acronyms: BD (Bondage and Discipline), DS (Domination and Submission), and SM (Sadism and Masochism). I've been hearing about The Outland for years, but it took a Sentinel deadline and a case of writer's block to finally persuade me to go and see the orgy of prurient violence for myself. I presciently imagined I would see acts involving spanking, whipping, electro-torture, and lots of leather chaps and chest harnesses, and I was right.
The trip began with an excursion down a dark alley behind a strip mall that seemed so abandoned, my despondent friends and I thought we were lost. The night was dark and gloomy; Greenlawn Cemetary was not but two blocks away, and with only a few other cars on the road, the area resembled the ghostly opening scene of a horror movie. Finally we stumbled upon The Outland: the converted back dock of an old Big Bear.
Wanting to fit in with the crowd while at the same time maintaining my sense of rugged individualism, I wore black jeans, a black leather jacket, and a brown henley. One of my friends opted for blue jeans and a blue t-shirt, refusing to conform to the nonconformity of the goths. Depeche Mode played in my car, and the three of us made a solemn oath to defend each other if a frightening woman with a red ball strapped in her mouth, or perhaps a vampire, tried to kidnap us. We then headed inside to meet up with the fourth member of our party, Ben.
We arrived right after the club opened at nine so that I could take in the flavor of the place. After paying $5.00 and being patted down by a scary-looking guy with an intimidating 18 inch septum piercing, I headed straight to the bar to enjoy $2.50 Miller Lights. As expected, the atmosphere inside was dark and somber, the lights dimly lit. Gothic paintings hung on the blackened walls. Fight Club and another unidentified movie played on the big screens, complete with subtitles for those attempting to follow the movies over the thunderously pulsating miasma of EBM, dark wave, and industrial music.
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