This is probably a tl;dr situation for most of you so this week’s post is a two-parter. Click here to just go to the shows and so you don't have to listen to me whine and be a giant, snot covered, gelatinous baby person.
Long story short tho, Hot Trash is NO LONGER moving and will remain here for the foreseeable future. Ta da! Read below if you want to find out about the (not at all a) SCANDAL that tore apart
THE WHOLE TOWN I MEAN NOT EVEN ONE SINGLE PERSON!!
Well… that escalated quickly.
You know, I am often wrong about things. When I was a wee lady larva and something would happen that just didn’t feel right, I would ignore it. I truly hope that there are women out there that didn’t experience this growing up, but for me, my whole life, I have been “overreacting,” “too sensitive” or “crazy.” So something would happen to me that pushed my boundaries, and I’d say to myself, “this is normal. I am just too sensitive. I am overreacting. Other people do this all day long. EVERYTHING IS FINE.”
What a great way to get yourself into quagmire after quagmire that, in retrospect, you KNEW ALL ALONG was a bad idea or didn’t feel right. But I wasn’t equipped with the right tools to know that. Plus there’s this whole “you made your bed... “ kind of perversion in our culture that shames us into "accepting the consequences" of other peoples' actions. One of the most harmful examples of this is, you know, you have a drink or wear a skirt that gives someone a boner, and apparently you deserve to be raped or whatever. OBVIOUSLY. You were asking for it. That whole fucked up thing. So if I had set the wheels in motion on an event or a situation and it went past where I wanted it to go, I never said stop. I always blamed myself saying, “you did this, and now you must endure whatever comes with it.”
I MEAN WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK, ME? People aren’t like that. Jesus h crizzle, you can say no to anything any time you want. You can also say yes! Or you can choose not to run, even, if you want! You literally don’t have to participate in anything, ever.
It’s not just a sex thing, either. I have let myself get pushed around and depleted of energy in jobs, friendships, relationships, family shit, I mean you name it. When you’re a kid and the adults in your life are constantly telling you that every emotion you have is wrong, you basically become an adult who is an overly accommodating construct of other people’s desires. I must do this thing or be this way for this person - even though everything inside of me is screaming GET OUT - otherwise I will not earn their friendship, love or respect. So gross. So fucked.
But see, here is why when something is completely fucked, completely broken? You just show up and you do the work to try to turn it around. Just keep showing up and keep doing the work even when it sucks, even when it’s “not working,” even when it makes no sense, even when the work seems like interminable lifetimes of pushing the same boulder up the same hill. Years of trying to figure out why every situation made me miserable, why every relationship made me feel sucked dry, and I am like, FINALLY a fucking grown up, like, a little bit. I get it now. I own me. And I don’t owe anyone anything.
SO ANYWAY, what happened is this: I began producing content for the new web site on which Hot Trash was going to live; I changed nothing about what I write, because that was the deal: you be you, bring your brand assets with you, we’ll give you a space to build that brand and pay you for the content. But then, the complaints rolled in. As it turns out, many people don’t like curse words (I love curse words). Many people don’t like it when I call them “hard sluts” (calling people “hard sluts” makes me giggle). Ok sure. So I was asked to no longer use curse words, and I was asked not to call people things like “hard sluts.” I was asked to make things a little softer, and a little more mainstream.
So I was like, well fuck my ass, what to do now? Here’s the thing about this stupid web site: it might be the first fully realized artistic thing that I’ve done in my life that belongs entirely to me and doesn’t have someone else’s fingerprints all over it. Whether people love it, hate it or don’t care about it at all, I have shown up every week (well, mostly) and done the work. And now I have this thing with you. Our tiny little weird community of people who have our own language with each other and love music and dive bars and curse words and feminists and dialogue about racism and equal rights and the beauty and heartbreak of being queer and frank talk about sex and farts and barf and witches and weirdness and how hard it is to be a person, and taking care of our neighbors and our service industry folks and investing dollars into our local community and making art and shitty lyrics from terrible 80’s songs and killer gifs and just being GOOD in a way that has nothing to do with the puritanical American “good,” but also being REAL and cultivating the ability to laugh at ourselves. Building compassion. Recognizing that the heart of darkness lives in all of us.
Because people are dirty disgusting animals driven by desire and ego and this whole thing that the rich white people version of Maine has going on where it’s all lobsters and Bean boots and lighthouses and restrained, civilized, blue blood conversations about real estate investments and Amaro-filtered instagram shots of sunsets over the Old Port is NOT REAL. I mean look around you, someone probably overdosed on fucking fentanyl within a mile of your mansion in the last week alone. That's the world, and it fucking hurts.
Look, if the writing here speaks to you, you are an intelligent person. I’m not trying to be a dick ("SINCE WHEN?!" - you), but I’m very smart, and I’ve been writing professionally my whole life. In fifth grade, I wrote a serial fantasy/comedy story about a sentient cob of corn that blew up among my fellow students, I got the taste for making people laugh, and I’ve been writing ever since. I care about my own voice, after a lifetime of being told that my voice is invalid.
And so, to quote my own resignation letter from HT:P!’s new erstwhile home like a self-obsessed prick, “Hot Trash's humor comes from a deep dive into the absurd, a deliberate violation of a reader's expectations of what a woman would write about music. While it feels chaotic to read and offensive to some, that is also intentional; that's the tone and cadence of rock and roll. I've been writing professionally for all kinds of audiences for over 20 years - the effects of when and how language is used are not lost on me. So while I am happy to share my brand assets, I won't do it without staying true to that brand's voice.”
Stupid? Yes, absolutely. There was money in this for me. It’s like I enjoy not being able to pay for things and being the worst. But I was up all night and it came to this for me: if they are not willing to alienate some of their readers by accommodating me, I am not willing to alienate my community by accommodating them.
Fair, right? Quid pro quo, Clarice. I don’t blame them, either. They are looking out for their own, and since they actually have money in the game, there’s a lot more at stake for them on a business level. But for me, what was at stake was my very essence, my voice, my heart and my sense of ownership over my own life. I can't fuck with that. Nay, I WON'T fuck with that.
I am always grateful for every opportunity that comes my way, including this one. And I will always endeavor to make the most out of it. But just this one time, I stood up for myself and listened to the inner voice chirping, “MOLLY, YOU IN DANGER GIRL” and for once I had this tiny, inconsequential-to-everyone-else victory that means so much to me. Not that it isn’t a total bummer, though. I feel pretty awful. Why does protecting your voice have to feel so bad?
Alright, anyway, if you see me this weekend buy me a shitty drink (I don’t deserve anything nice) because I am super depressed about my life and how much poorer and even less liked/respected I just made myself because I’m a fucking idiot with “integrity.” I need your sympathy. I’ll never survive Trump’s America. But at least I’ll go down fighting, yelling NEVER LET THEM STEAL YOUR VOICE when they come to take me to the sewer torture prisons or whatever Steve Bannon is cooking up for mouthy feminists.
Ok, now go read about some shows, b.