On my way to Ron Jeremy's Club Sesso
last night, I received a phone call from my father. “Be careful at that event, India… there will be some pretty unsavory characters present.” Unsavory? What did that even mean?
I was about to go meet Bill Plympton, one of the world's coolest, and crudest, cartoonists!
Was he implying that cartoon lovers were seedy? Certainly the club's regulars wouldn't be looking for a gangbang on a Monday night when an open event was taking place? Not that “swingers” are unsavory either. Am I digging myself a hole here?
I will admit, I was a little nervous when I walked into the club, which was hosting a live life drawing event for the Portland-born artist. Not because of the handful of grandma's walking around in stripper heels and garter belts, but because of how badly I stuck out in my seven layers of sweaters and Keds. I tried to look casual; I leaned against the bar, sipped $3 champagne, and tried so damn hard
not to look directly at an old woman's naked breasts get fondled in the corner. Oh god,
I thought embarrassed, what if I see someone I know?
Plympton sat at a small desk that stood in front of a large lounge chair. One by one, dedicated fans would approach the desk, shake his hand, and strip naked to pose for an original Plympton portrait of themselves. The artist seemed completely unfazed by what was happening in front of him. Apparently he was used to being fawned over by naked fans.
I guess you would be after drawing boobs and cocks for more than 30 years.
After I watched around 10 pudgy women get their pictures drawn, Portland's favorite tattooed man, Matt Gone
, stepped up to the table. He was followed by a man with a microphone who announced that Gone was having a magazine article written about him and, despite the club's no camera policy, was going to have his picture taken for the piece. “If you wish to protect your privacy, we'll ask you to please leave the room until after the picture is taken,” the man with the mic said.
Of course, I expected every table to immediately empty. I was surprised, and then inspired, to find that only one of the two dozen couples who were present exited the building. Club Sesso's visitors had nothing to hide. They were proud of their presence at Club Sesso and proud of being Plympton fans.
And I am too. Just as long as I can keep my clothes on.