When I walk into the auditorium, a minute or so after 6:00PM, there's a 'Sexy Crushing' video playing off YouTube. My companion and I sit down in the second row. I'd previously been introduced to the fetish/phenomenon of 'sexy crushing' during an artist talk by Jennifer Chan, last year. The videos depict women, usually faceless and shown from the knees down, crushing objects underneath high heeled shoes. Apparently they're very popular. The video ends, and someone behind me shouts, 'Play another!' Molly Soda, whom I now identify standing behind the lecturn says, 'No'. Now we'll watch women getting pied. She types 'girls getting pied compilation' into the search field, waits for the results, and chooses a favorite video from the ones listed. It is now about 6:10. The video description reads,
"This is my second video montage of girls getting pied in the face. All these videos belong to different users around youtube. This is the first video of the week, one will be posted every day! So subscribe to see all of them! Tomorrow- First ever wetlook montage Tuesday- Girls getting covered in beans!"
The video delivers as promised. I watch as several women are covered in pies. Not the lazy shaving-cream pies one might expect, but proper ones. With crust. Someone in the audience shouts, "These aren't shaving cream pies! They have crusts!" Nobody responds. The din becomes louder, as members of the audience ask each-other what's going on. "Is this serious?" "Is this real?" "I love Molly Soda!" "Who exactly is Molly Soda?"
The video ends, and Molly says, "I guess I'll start." She types, "whats my age again karaoke" into Youtube, and plays the first video. The lights are off in the auditorium, but from the second row I can see the dark figure of Molly Soda begin to sing, unashamed. "That's about the time she walked awaaaaaay from me ... nobody likes you when your twennnnnty three." I remember the song from my youth, it's the first breakthrough hit by Blink 182, the hugely influential pop punk band, circa 1999. Back when MTV video plays could launch a band into mainstream success. I think about Molly Soda, the prototypical self-made Youtube-driven success, reminiscing for a time when Viacom had more control over popular media. Molly Soda never could have made it in 1999. Interesting.
The song ends. Molly tells us that she doesn't really feel like talking, and that the stage is open for anyone to come up and talk, sing, ask questions (if they must), or entertain. Someone shouts out from the audience to ask if they can do a number with Molly, who agrees with visible reluctance. I don't know the song. Neither does the guest, but Ms. Soda carries the performance. Over the course of the evening, I come to discover that Molly Soda has an apparently near-encyclopedic memory for early 2000s pop lyrics. I am impressed.
In the spirit of 'getting into it', my companion and I ask to do a pop-rap song from the same era. It's poorly recieved, but I don't care. We try our best. I'm a bit too embarassed to look at the audience, so I fix my eyes on the lyrics on-screen. When I've climbed back into my seat, a fellow member of our class asks from behind me, rhetorically, "what the fuck am I going to write about this?" I shake my head, wondering the same.
A grad student saunters onto the stage, taking Molly up on her offered soapbox. He talks about smoking pot in the school dorms, stealing compulsively from Macy's, and drinking cheap bum wine. He implicates his roommate in some crimes, and says he knows Molly from a bar he used to work at in Baltimore where she used to drink every day. She confirms.
Another grad gingerly approaches the stage, showing far less confidence than the previous speaker. She's visibly starstruck by Molly Soda, and barely manages to stammer out an "I love you." Molly gives her a hug, and she appears about ready to collapse. "I don't know if I want to date you or be your friend." She tells us a story about how the car from which she once sold pot (since decomissioned) was named Molly, after Molly Soda. Molly appears a bit at a loss, but takes the compliments with earnest gregariousness.
A few more people get up and sing songs. All early-2000s pop. I notice some common themes: high school, trying to fit in, searching for likeminded people to go to the mall and eat pizza with, my friends sure are great. Looking around the room, I see 90s kids, drunk off the thrill of shared experience. Art kids with matching septum piercings. Kids who probably didn't have a great time in high school. And I realize: this narrative is still as important as it was in then. Everyone's just trying to fit in, and perhaps only now beginning to succeed.
Molly asks again for questions, "Anyone wanna ask me something? About life? You can ask about my art practice too if you really want to, I guess." After a few seconds nobody has responded. Molly cuts back in. "I don't like silence, so I'm gonna say this talk is over. Have a good night!" It's around 7, an hour before the billed end-of-talk. I gather my coat and scarf, collect my thoughts for a moment, and walk out of the auditorium. I feel like part of a community.