The couch was visibly stained. The room was ripe with anticipation. Slowly, the door opened, and in walked all five feet seven inches of comedian and Insomniac host Dave Attell. He was wearing a black sweater and matching black hat—that kind of old-man-at-the-college-bar-urban-chic—much like he appears on his show. His ensemble was casual and confident as he approached the couch and introduced himself.

Hi, he said, I’m Dave Attell. He leaned toward me, hand outstretched.

I shook his hand as I introduced myself. I was excited to finally meet this famous comic, but was shaken out of my reverie when he took a seat on the couch next to me and vigorously shook my hand. I felt some of his sweat moisten my right palm.

To break the ice, I started with a question about Attell’s favorite pastime: drinking. I told him that there’s a bar on Main Street that serves goldfish shots. Would you ever swallow a live goldfish?

Attell laughed at my question, and said that he already had done a goldfish shot. Incredulously, he asked me if people were still doing that and said he was surprised PETA hadn’t stepped in yet. Later, he opened his act with a joke about chugging goldfish—a bit of an in-joke between the funnyman and me.

I looked down for a moment and scribbled in my notebook. When our eyes reconnected, I was slightly startled by the intensity of his gaze. Well, why shouldn’t he look at the person who is asking him questions? It’s the only polite thing to do. What a professional, I thought to myself.

My next question was also about drinking. I asked, how much alcohol is too much?

Kids these days have it bad, he said with a demure smile, leaning into the couch. He started reminiscing about his NYU days when it was legal for eighteen-year-olds to drink alcohol. Oh, the good old days when you could fight for your country and drink responsibly. However, Attell recognized that there is such a thing as too much alcohol. When you think you’ve had too much, he said, that’s when you should stop. And as he always says, don’t drink and drive.

Amazing, I thought to myself. This guy is not only polite and charming, but on top of it all he’s responsible. At the age of 41, this experienced adult—he’s old enough to be my dad, mind you—values moderation, and it really seems like he would be the perfect designated driver for any girls’ night out.

I confronted him about his preference of smaller audiences. I noticed you usually perform at smaller venues, like the Comedy Cellar, I said. Actually, I mentioned, I’d seen him do stand-up there this past summer. So I asked him, what is it that you enjoy about doing stand-up in front of a smaller crowd like the Comedy Cellar?

He looked pleasantly surprised, and a devilish grin spread across his face. Really, he said, you should come down to the stage next time you’re there and say hi to me. That club only fits about 80 people, I love it there, he said. Then, in answer to my question he explained that smaller clubs are a great place for him to experiment with new material. He explained that in front of a larger audience, the act is a lot more rehearsed and is more akin to acting in a play than to the improvising of jokes for a responsive audience. Attell’s main lament about large performance spaces is not simply a matter of his desire for intimacy. It’s also about expectations and how the audience demands so much from you and is so disappointed by error that there’s this huge pressure for famous comedians to be constantly on. For clarification, he added that Robin Williams is gifted in the on department, and that comic-audience intimacy—the word rolled off his tongue in his deep cigarette rasp—is essential.

As I listened to his response, I couldn’t help but wonder if Attell had something in his eye—I thought I saw him wink at me—but I guess the room was slightly dusty. I brushed it off, and when Attell finished talking, I asked him my final question. So, I said, you’ve seen a lot of crazy shit while filming Insomniac—what is the most fucked up thing you’ve ever witnessed?

Well, he said, I would have to say the craziest shit I’ve ever seen is the artificial insemination of a cow. I noticed as I looked up from my notebook that his gaze was lingering on my chest for an uncomfortable amount of time—even after I caught his eye. He went on as if nothing had happened and added that pigs giving birth was pretty fucked up too. He said that after witnessing that, it was a long time before he could eat pork.

I sat, somewhat stunned, my mind full of strange images of farm animals, subconsciously trying to avoid his piercing gaze. I wondered, what would drive such a talented comedian into a life of drunken barnyard activities?

As a parting thought—and against my better judgment—I handed him a Care Bears Valentine in honor of the upcoming holiday. It was a cute green card with a red gummy bear inside that read, “I wish to be your Valentine! To: Dave; From: Daniele.” He took the card, and I walked away, expecting to be swept off my feet by the next two hours of comedy.

Walking down the hallway, I heard Attell call after me, “What, no email address?” I tilted my head to the side and let the full awkwardness of that comment sink in. After all, I thought to myself, what is he going to do? It’s obvious from his show and standup that he’s a huge fan of masturbation—does he want me to have cyber sex with him? I kept on walking, letting my silence ring in answer to his creepiness. The show was pretty good and all, but I couldn’t help feeling as I walked away, his eyes firmly trained on my ass, that the whole swashbuckling comedian act wasn’t quite an act.