Posts

Love Yourself By Hating Others

Image
Not long ago I had it all. Career success, money and a boyfriend who was easy to manipulate because he was less attractive than me. Life was good, but I was lonely at the top. I had no friends, and typically this wouldn't have bothered me but social media was becoming intrinsic to business, and I needed to look popular to elevate my brand. Less talented people than me were further ahead than me because they were really good at being fake and I figured if those embarrassments can ingratiate themselves to industry gatekeepers so can I. So I took action and decided to become a social climber.

I first saw Sheryl when she was on stage performing stand up, and I was immediately gripped with jealousy. I didn't laugh at any of her jokes because she wasn't funny but also because I was distracted by the fact that she was new in town and was on a show that I’d been trying to get booked on for nine years. It was hate at first sight. But she glowed with ambition, and I knew that she wa…

Acting Classes Are Scams

Image
Ninety-eight percent of acting classes are pyramid schemes, and the other two percent are cults. I have an eye for terrible acting classes because, unfortunately, I've taken a lot. Every acting class makes me feel like I'm getting punked on a hidden camera show. One time a teacher made me play the game fight, flight or fuck with another girl. This stranger and I squared off against each other and I then I full on beat the shit out of her. Another time, I took a Saturday morning improv class, and my teacher showed up hungover every time. He could never remember what we were working on so the day always devolved into a clap focus game with him on the sidelines eating McDonald's breakfast sandwiches. I can spot scam artist teachers when I see one and my new acting teacher is exhibit A.

I recently enrolled in another acting studio because there is no place to practice acting outside of paid gigs. My teacher is a forty-eight-year-old man who gloats about living in LA for twent…

The Pitch Of Love: A story about family, betrayal, and indoor soccer

Image
The TV was so loud that I could only see, not hear, the phone call that changed my family forever. My dad stood still in the middle of the kitchen, clasping the phone between his chin and shoulder, but as the news sank in, his head began to move back and forth, twisting in such an over-the-top, directionless chaos, that I didn't even notice the phone drop; I blinked, and the chord was just swinging beside him, like deranged pendulum. My dad collapsed to the ground and I ran into the room, meeting him on the cold, hardwood floor. He broke the news to me fast: Hannah, I'm so sorry. You didn't make the soccer team.

My life would never be the same.


I actually did make the soccer team, just not the starting line up, but to my dad, being benched was an even greater sin than being cut. That a Hogan, a family respected for generations as supreme baseball, hockey and rugby players, would be condemned to the bench, was not only an embarrassment, but an egregious insult; an attack on…

Growing Pains: The Story of a Young Female Comedian

Image
The comedy community means two things to me, comedy and boys. Over the years, I have entangled myself in both pursuits, with varying amounts of success on each account. I have suffered great pains and great joys as a comedian, or as the rest of the world calls me, a female comedian, but I am still alive tell the tale, and I regard my mistakes as battle scars and my victories as flukes.




A cool skater girl in college always told me how funny and talented I was, so, naturally, we became best friends. I liked hanging out with her because when we'd go out together she would pull me out of my shell, talk to anyone, and through proximity to her, people, or as I call them, idiots, thought I was fun too. I was interested in comedy, and she wanted to have a good time, so I asked her if she wanted to start a sketch troupe with me.  She said yes, and my first sketch comedy troupe was born; conceived in the womb of my insecurity and born into the world I was desperate to please.



I looked up s…

Whatever Happened To Hannah Hogan: The Dublin Years

Image
I was sitting in a bar in Dublin with my best friend and my French boyfriend, the first man I ever loved, Joyce. We were drinking Guinness and had just stepped back in from having a cigarette. I smoked Marlboros back then, the European kind, not the America kind. Years later, when I moved to The US, I tried American Marlboros thinking that they would remind me of my Dublin years but they just tasted like regular, terrible cigarettes and didn't bring me back to that magical era, when I lived in Ireland, the time in my life before I started my life.

Joyce was older than me. I felt very sophisticated for snagging him since he spoke broken English but mostly because he was my first real boyfriend. He called me "little girl" and would really enunciate the Lit-TULLLE. At the time I thought it was sweet, because it was, but in retrospect-and probably only because I have a million feminist voices haunting my mind- it seems a little creepy that he called me a child. But Joyce was…