So tonight I saw British comedian Daniel Kitson for the first time at Union Hall in Brooklyn. I kept getting URGENT emails from friends who were just group messaging everyone you HAVE to go see Daniel Kitson he’s AMAZING. To the point where I started to think, who’s this asshole Daniel Kitson? Who does he think he is, being the subject of so many of my personal emails, taking up space that could be devoted to people writing to me to tell me how cool I am or how good my hair has been looking at the length I’ve grown it to, or something, or whatever…
I did a spot on the show preceding his. I tried out some hilarious new material about getting an HIV test and believe it or not: it only went okay.
So Kitson comes on and…oh jeez, how to describe? He is the most likable, charming, intelligent, at ease funny performer, kind of magical and emotional and hilarious all at once. He does an hour and a half of material without once mentioning a recent HIV test.
Afterwards I have a quick, awkward conversation with myself about whether to say hi. Normally with anyone who is a performer of any kind I can’t really bear to meet them because there’s nothing to say except, “I think you’re good or whatever,” and it always just feels like you’re giving someone a bad handjob. (I suppose handjobs are by definition bad.) In this case I decided I just had To Go For It because he was so inspiring and wonderful, and was talking to other comics I knew so maybe there was an In. And so I go up to him and say, “Hi, you were great.” Already I am feeling barfy about myself. But he’s gracious and shakes my hand and stands up and says thanks. I throw out some awkward banter about is he in town or performing around or whatevs and he says he’s in town for 3 weeks and only has a few shows scheduled. So then, words pouring out with absolutely no relationship to reality or normalcy, I say, “Well then you should hang out with us” [referencing my friend who was standing next to me.] I do not add who we are, where said hang out should be, why on earth he would want to spend time with complete strangers, any of those trifling details. Why say those things when I can finish that sentence and just awkwardly stare as he tries to digest this undigestible, chicken wing size piece of gibberish? Seeing he’s unsure of what to say, I add, “I guess that sounded more like a threat than an invitation,” which was basically like pouring a Costco size bottle of embarrassment ketchup all over the pancakes of awkwardness I had just stacked up. He kind of tried to chuckle to cover up his fear and I took that as my sign to run away with no explanation. I Am An Idiot.
So anyway do go see Daniel Kitson at Union Hall in Park Slope.