hero

it's a dirty flannel day. i am sitting at the 24 hour coffee shop with a lukewarm cup of cocoa. there's a drunk guy in front of the window pointing at indiscriminate things: CAR! LAMPOST! CARWASH-STREET-BUILDING! there's no particular reasoning i can make out behind his cataloging of the world. well, he is so drunk he's stumbling so...

something got taken away. i had it and then the world said, 'nope'. i think about how long i've been in New York, moving like molasses. it's like trying to break through a brick wall with a fucking spoon. i want so badly to make sense of what has unfolded but i can't. so, i give up today. i gave up last night too. i might give up for a few days. hopefully i'll have some reserve for my show on Friday. $5! UCB! 7pm!

who do i think i am? who am i to wish happiness? what right do i have to live my dream? i think these things right now. i do. i am wishing them away so hard. i am wishing them away with all my might. i just don't have much might today. all of the stuff that i should be embracing like: everyone has their own path, or - everything happens for a reason or - when one door closes another one opens or - there is something that can be learned from everything, just makes me want to interject with

'please, shut the fuck up. please, shut the fuck up and quit spewing hope like it's something real because i'm sick of my hope being scratched out of me.'

it's not nice. but there it is. i was waiting in line and Mariah Carey's 'Hero' came on and my eyes started stinging.

So when you feel like hope is gone
Look inside you and be strong
And you'll finally see the truth
That a hero lies in you

REALLY MARIAH?! A hero in ME?!!
okay. i guess there is some cheesy, syrupy part of me that wants to have faith. that wants to believe. that wants to live life accompanied by the 'Glitter' soundtrack. i guess it's just one of those days when you've got to be where you feel. and if Mariah to the Carey is gonna resonate today, i will just let it echo in my heart. perhaps there is a hero in me. holy christ. at least i'm laughing right now. this shit is bananas.

JANEY'S RECESSION TIPS

i'm unemployed these days, which is actually NOT a bad thing. i'm happier than i ever was while working. it's easier for me to see things in a positive light and i'm full of creative energies! while this recession has got almost everyone (including me) biting their nails, i decided to describe the way i've been feeling about it through my character Janey, in audio visual format. i hope you like it. if you do, you can vote FUNNY. my goal is to make one of these character videos per week. if i miss a week though, it's okay. and it's okay if i want to make up for the previous week with TWO videos the following week. i'm totally flex like that. and now, without further ado, please enjoy 'JANEY'S RECESSION TIPS':

JANEY'S RECESSION TIPS - watch more funny videos

It's a Biggun

i'm gonna make up for lost time by blogging the SHIT out of this next post. it's a piece i read last night at this AWESOME reading series called How I Learned. if you have two legs or a motor-bike (fuck the MTA) and inhabit the island or one of the fair boroughs, you should absolutely check out the next reading (Dave Hill is a guest!). Here is a veritable tome dedicated to How I Learned My Adolescence Was Over. Boom:

I have a feeling that adult-hood or at least my adult-hood is sort of like a second stage of adolescence, except now I have to pay bills. Maybe it’s because I’ve chosen to live the life of a performer and writer and I don’t deal with the conventional trappings of house, car, dog and/or kid. Maybe it’s because I still read the horoscope section and pretend to be cynical but recently just cut out a Free Will reading for Libra because it said ‘You Libra, are hereby invited to regard the next 11 months as a time when you will make your own life a masterpiece. Unseen forces and unexpected allies will come to your assistance if you do’ and taped it into my journal. Maybe it’s because I slept with my buddy, (the name I gave my baby blanket. anything or anyone you love needs a name) until the age of nineteen.

I do have a crisp memory of when my adolescence began though. It was at the top of a water slide in Cedar Rapids Iowa. My dad and I had just gone to see Back to the Future. It was a father daughter date and one of the last times I remember being with my dad before he left for Florida for what was supposed to be a couple years but ended up being forever. He has a penchant for the nostalgic and as he looked up at me in my tankini about ready to push my self down the slide he said ‘Annie, I just realized this is probably one of the last experiences you will have as a kid.’ Bummer dad. I think I rolled my eyes and laughed at him for being so sentimental. But he was right. It was.

11/24/88 (Seventh Grade)
Dear Diary,
GOD! Why can’t I just disappear, huh? It’s pretty damn clear that my presence doesn’t mean a shit to anyone. I mean I’m treated like a fucking baby every fucking place that I go! I am so fucking sick of it! So what if I like love stories with happy endings?! So what?! I’m sorry, that’s just the way I am right now! I don’t like those stupid dumb, un-meaningful science fiction movies that all these deranged older people around me (my step-brother and older sister) like. I’m so sick of being treated like my opinions don’t mean a fucking thing! CHRIST!!!

Needless to say, seventh grade sucked. Fast forward to freshman year of college. A real shit storm. I was home-sick. I had no clue how to take care of myself because I’d been so overprotected and sheltered growing up in Iowa. Of course I didn’t consider that to be the case. I thought I was tough and self-sufficient, but as it turned out, I was putty. It was so devastating to discover that I wasn’t as cool or independent or grown-up as I thought I was. I remember closing myself into an orange bathroom stall in the building that housed my English class and sobbing so hard that I was dry heaving. So disappointed that I was still a baby.

On top of being lost at sea, I had a whopper of an eating disorder. Which is sadly not uncommon among young women (or as I’ve also learned, older women). It wasn’t the puking kind, gross. Just the Skelator one. I called it my problem with food. My first role in a college production was as Grandma Joad in The Grapes of Wrath. If that’s not a sign I don’t know what is. Other than getting cast as a death camp survivor. It wasn’t about losing weight or having the perfect body. It was about controlling everything around me because I felt like if I gave in to any impulse, (read anything enjoyable) I would lose all control. Fun times. It served its purpose. It kept me child-like. And if it didn’t mark the end of my adolescence it did help me to mark the beginning of the end. I was like a snake sloughing off her old skin. Or if you are a fan of the precious - like me – a caterpillar turning into a butterfly. Or if you are feeling the holy spirit and slightly narcissistic – like that Jesus guy’s forty days in the desert.

7/26/94 (Summer After Freshman Year of College)
I am SCREAMING! Inside. These thoughts will not leave me. I hate this so much. I hate food! I hate it for making me so FUCKING crazy so that I cannot have one fucking thought without this damn obsession that haunts me and will not let go. I HATE THIS!

That summer, my friend Laura asked me if I wanted to get on a sailboat and cross Lake Superior with four other girls. I was spending the summer in my mother’s house and crawling the walls out of boredom. YES!!! Anything that would get me away from my mom and that cathedral quiet house. I had also taken on this cult like job with U.S. PIRG going door to door about water quality and trying to reach quota and I HATED it.

Crossing Lake Superior, also known as the watery grave of the Edmund Fitzgerald, is not an expedition to be taken lightly. You can die. It’s pretty serious stuff. But apparently I was less worried about death than a summer gaping with boredom and megalomaniac hippies behaving eerily like Ricky Roma and Dave Moss from Glengarry Glenn Ross.

The co-captains of the crossing would be Laura and Sarah. They were two years ahead of me and they went to public school while I went to parochial. Sarah was my first girl crush. She was, and is, a beauty. Quiet, extremely bright and quick with a come-back if you were disparaging to her or her friends. She was like Ione Sky in Say Anything except with the endowments of Marilyn Monroe. And I wanted to be like her. Which for some reason I couldn’t cop to, even in my journal:

8/10/94
The thing about this trip. I came unknowing. I feel at times like I know very little, especially around Sarah. It is funny. I never knew her really, but I was always in awe of her. She was this friend of Laura’s who seemed so amazingly angelic and perfect to me that she seemed untouchable. But I think I have come to realize that things and people as well, aren’t all that they may appear to be. I no longer feel in awe of Sarah (I was full of shit – I was totally in awe of her and remember eating tons of homemade pie at Silver Islet because I wanted curves like her). Sometimes I think I am being jealous or childish. (Ya think)?

I’m sitting in my apartment in Queens with yoga toes on my feet right now. Those are the gel devices that spread your toes apart and are supposed to provide a yoga ‘work-out’ for your foot muscles. This is the kind of shit I spend my money on, instead of something responsible like a new cutting board or socks. My right toes have been tingling the last few days and I am playing the hypochondriac and worrying about all the awful, morbid things that this could mean. I don’t have health insurance and although things are looking promising on the acting front, let’s face it – this business is a crap shoot. A crap shoot that seems to also have the momentum of molasses. So I guess I feel unsettled. Don’t grown-ups feel settled? Don’t they have health insurance? Don’t they have careers that pay them a comfortable or at least a decent salary? Not necessarily, I guess. My point is, I should have health insurance. I should have a baby or at least the conditions under which it would be safe or at least considered a good idea to have one. I should own something more substantial than an ipod nano (which I lost).

Great. Now you're all gonna think I’m clueless and unsettled. I’m figuring it out is all. I think that’s the best I can do right now. And actually I don’t think anyone ever has it all figured out ever. At least I’m not nineteen anymore. Sweet Christ, that was SO tough. Also – did I mention I have a show? Running at Upright Citizen’s Brigade? Featured in Time Out NY? I AM a grown up see?! My show is sort of my life right now and I’ll probably corner you later and give you a postcard. (except i didn't have any postcards to give out at the show. whoops.). I'm working on it folks.

Three Things:

MY SHOW HAS BEEN EXTENDED! If you haven't had a chance to see it - or can't wait to see it again :)

USE IT
THIS THURSDAY, March 12, 8PM and THURSDAY, March 26, 8PM
at UCB THEATRE
307 W. 26th Street (@ 8th Ave) *** (212) 366-9176
http://newyork.ucbtheatre.com/shows/1957

THE PRESS IS IN!

TIME OUT NY:
On the mark: Ann Carr is what most comic's aren't: a fine actor. See her convincing and very funny characters.

THE COMIC'S COMIC:
Ann Carr doesn't simply create characters, she jumps into them so fully that you wonder where Carr went. I often want to tell anyone who likes Showtime's new comedy 'United States of Tara' that if they really want to see how one person can inhabit so many different personalities and leap from one to another at will, then they should take a closer look at Ann Carr. She is truly captivating.

THE APIARY:
Ann Carr is a versatile character actress... she is always redefining herself and pushing against any limits.

TONY CARNEVALE (pal & fellow performer):
I saw Ann Carr's show at UCB a couple weeks ago and she blew me away. Such a funny, touching, human experience.

MY MOMENT WITH GLENN CLOSE!



I don't know if you are one to believe in signs. Personally, I'm a selective sign seeker. Meaning, I pretty much decide that something is a sign if I want it to be. While I was sitting on a stool as the gatekeeper at a V.I.P. lounge at an art fair yesterday, who should walk up to the entrance to admire the beautiful view (it was right on the Hudson) with her beautiful smile but GLENN CLOSE. I didn't say anything because I didn't want to infringe on her day or ruin the moment by scaring her off - so i didn't say anything - I just smiled really big & goofy and silently mouthed IT'S GLENN! She saw me, looked me right in the eyes and smiled the most terrifically warm smile. seriously it was a semi-religious experience. i was almost in tears afterwards and i wanted to hug her. and the whole time i'm thinking to myself: 'you can tell i'm an actor! you were just like me once! i know this can't possibly mean as much to you as it does to me, but you can tell all that stuff just by looking at me, right?!' I'm a tard. It was a moment. So, if you believe in auspicious portends - that HAS to be one. And i've decided it means my show this Thursday is going to be AMAZING. So you should come!

NICE

What a nice day! Aretha sang. Obama was sworn into office as our nation's President. I cried. And they posted my Apiary interview! http://www.theapiary.org/archives/2009/01/inside_with_ann.html#more

USE IT premiers at UCB this Thursday, Jan. 22, 8pm. I hope you can come!


Because if you find yourself crying openly in a Starbucks about the webisode audition you just went on, you need to find a way to channel that shit.

In her newest solo show 'Use It', character maven Ann Carr bites the hand that feeds her (well almost feeds her) and draws upon her host of experiences as an actress in New York, poking fun at the industry and the people who fuel it.

Written and Performed by Ann Carr
Directed and Nurtured like a soft baby rabbit named Chester by Ms. Eliza Skinner

January 22, 8pm (alongside Tastiskank)
January 29, 8pm (alongside Catch a Rising Star(s))

web: http://newyork.ucbtheatre.com/shows/1957

can use hairbrush

usually at an audition there's a woman with hair perfectly pasted in place; made-up like someone has taken an airbrush to her face. these, i'm sure you will agree, are probably not horrible qualities, but i find them a smidge hateful none the less.

i'm not unattractive and i can use a hairbrush. and not to toot my own horn but alright... i was on the homecoming court in high-school and rocked a pretty snazzy Laura Ashley'esque dress to mark the occasion. however, whenever i get in the vicinity of these human Barbies, i feel like a cave-woman crawling out of my den of dirt with lice leaping out of my hair. or Courtney Love.

i think what bothers me most about my dislike for these women is the knowledge that i'm in company with them. no matter how shallow i determine they are (and sometimes it's like, totally gag me with a spoon inducing?), we are playing the same game. i'm aware that some of this may be spurred by insecurity. there's probably some junior-high slight i've never fully let go of (flash-back to me sobbing uncontrollably on the floor of the girls bathroom after being dumped by Jeff Mobley for Shannon MacAtee - a much more buxom and 'exploratory' 8th Grader - inconsolable until someone suggested we go to Wendy's and get Frosties and Fries).

who knows, maybe Barbie is a closet genius and i'm the asshole who thinks i'm so much more original and interesting because i write my own material and stage my own shows. i'm certainly not the only 'original' in this city - kaleidoscopic in it's uniqueness - and i'm aware of that.

i guess what i'm trying to say is sometimes i just wish these bitches would shut their dumb-ass faces. today i was party to a conversation which pretty much went down like this:

dude: in a monotone voice to convey the fact that he could care less about everything (except, of course, getting in this girl's pants) - You wanna hear something really gross. I mean, totally disgusting.

babs: in a voice trying to be ironic to show the dude she's interesting and confident because she feels the polar opposite inside: Oh my God, you know me - we go way back (this is funny because they've only just met, get it?!) - i LOVE disgusting shit.

dude: continues with gross story which is really not that gross.

babs: (delivered in an ironic tone, of course): Oh my God, that is SO nasty.

i sound bitter don't i? i just notice this shit, okay? and my whole entire being roils with a gigantic inner heave when i do.

maybe the Barbies sense this when they purposely slither their painted on seven jeans into my path and say 'excuse me' in a steamy voice meant to convey 'watch out - i might be dangerous' - but which just comes across sounding very sibilant and slightly moronic.

i observe the seeming ease with which they navigate the nerves of a call back: giggling and tossing their hair behind their shoulder as though they're on some photo shoot for a glossy. the way they flirt with everyone in the room (especially the casting director or whomever they deem most powerful) while ignoring the only other woman in the room (whom they have decided is their competition to the death for a non-speaking fast food commercial).

i hate them so much! okay maybe hate is too strong a word: strongly abohor? have a healthy dose of malevolence for?

maybe next time i'll be able to put my red-hot demon away and really observe so that i can use them in my next show. in which they will suffer a gory and bloody demise at the hands of a louse infested, snaggle-toothed, neanderthal.

Blood and Guts

I'm not even going to say the thing about how i haven't posted in a long time okay? we all know that and so - there's really no point in pointing it out. Just because it's on my guilty conscience doesn't mean i have to tell everyone that i feel bad about it. Because no-one else really cares about it except me. It's sort of like the time when i spilled the beans to my mom that i was unemployed because i don't have a dishonest (read self-preserving) bone in my body. Except that she trumps my guilty conscience with all her 'LOVE' and 'CONCERN'. C'mon! She asked how my day was at work! Total sneak attack. anyway...

Last night i went to see the brilliant, slightly disturbed (and i thought i had a tendency to be negative and self-absorbed) comedian/writer/performer/thinker/man-on-fire Marc Maron in his solo show 'Scorching The Earth' which essentially focuses on his divorce and the events surrounding. Let me just preface this by saying that my boyfriend, who is also a stand-up comic, ADORES Mr. Maron. Ever since we started dating I've gotten an earful of how AMAZING and GENIUS and BRILLIANT and HONEST this guy is. So even though I've only met him once, he pops into the conversation once in a while: playing the part of the successful but emotionally tormented older brother or the popular guy at school who also happens to be a poet and closet intellectual. He is all that but after seeing him in this show I would also throw in tortured and brave and also a bit of a douche (i think he would be the first to cop to the douche assessment folks). I don't think i have ever seen someone on stage wrestle with their demons the way this guy did. He laid it all out there for us. It was like he made a clean, precise incision from heart to guts and let it all spill out in a bloody mess while carefully cataloging it all. Essentially he was a clothed naked man. One moment particularly resonated for me and i woke this morning still thinking of it: he was describing his former wife 'she was an ANGEL' and just let the hurt hit him as he doubled over and let out a sad cry. It was one of the bravest, openly narcissistic, brilliantly crafted pieces i have ever seen. I was entertained by him, he's sharply, funny- but it was also like sitting down for a drink with a family member you know peripherally who seems to have it together until without warning they start ripping into the maw of meat that is their heartache, over and over again, with a dull knife while you butter your piece of bread and stuff it in your mouth waiting, wide-eyed and rapt like an asshole, for them to take you to the basement level of their pain.

So go see it. Although, you might never want to get married after you do. No, seriously, the man is amazing. And tragic. And probably getting laid every night.