Jen Kirkman answers a few questions ahead of her Saturday-night RecordBar show

Like a lot of comics who have been working since before your friends were attempting to curate your laughter with Facebook, Jen Kirkman is everywhere — once you know where to look. Her most recent standup video hit Netflix in May (it’s very funny); she published a best-selling book last year (another one is on the way); she kills it as a podcaster; and YouTube fairly shrieks, “You totally know her already” when you type in her name. 

Saturday night, Kirkman is at RecordBar with new material. It’s a more intimate venue than she’s likely to play next time, and that alone makes it a can’t-miss date for fans. But it’s also basically can’t-miss for anyone who likes well-honed, brutally funny standup.

Kirkman answered The Pitch’s questions this week by e-mail. 

The Pitch: What in the news or in the culture strikes you as hard to joke about — not because it’s taboo or offensive but because it’s so shitty that where does one even start?

Kirkman: I may touch on broad subjects, like sexual harassment or gender issues, but as they relate to me and my thoughts or experiences. I hate broad statements like “Everything is up for grabs in comedy” — I just don’t swing one way or the other. I don’t know why I chose to say that like I’m Sammy Davis Jr. or something. Me, personally, I always know where to start if I want to make a joke about something shitty — I start with how it relates to me, if it does. It’s the easiest way in, and that way you’re not bound to end up saying the same thing that everyone else is on Twitter, and you’re less likely to come off as just trying to have something to say about XYZ “shitty” thing in the news.

What in your own life is getting easier to talk about onstage or is funnier to you?

It’s easier to admit that I’m a little impatient and impulsive in the way I react to things in life, whether romantic relationships or just any relationships. After accepting myself on a level of “Look, I’m not going to figure out how to be perfect in this lifetime. I’ve accepted my flaws, but I’m not going to stop working on them. I can continue to minimize the impact my flaws have on other people — I’m not looking to make excuses for myself.”

But there’s definitely humor in admitting to crowds things like “Yes, I’ve actually found myself feeling angry that a grown man had a relationship 10 years before he met me.” Or that it’s a bummer to do volunteer work and just be another face in a crowd ladling out soup, instead of a hero who completely rehabilitates a war veteran with PTSD, because, well, it would fulfill a deep co-dependent narcissism, I suppose. It’s fantastic when audiences laugh at things like that, because that means they’ve thought things like that, too.

The new norm for comics seems to involve such a broad platform — podcasting, book deals, streaming services versus cable versus networks, social media. How do you balance your own identity against stage and online personas against being that hollow-sounding thing, a brand?

I tell you, no one analyzes this stuff more than people who ask me questions. I’ve never once thought of balancing anything. I’m just an artist who knows how to create on different “platforms,” to use a gross word. Just so you don’t feel alone in using “brand” — I’m here for you. I just do what comes naturally to me, because I love it. And identity is just another word for brand, I guess. And I’m not rich and famous and in everyone’s face, so really, I don’t think I’m a brand. A brand is an entity that makes a lot of money for the people investing in said brand. I’m just me over here. Hi, everyone!

What’s the raw fuel for you right now — the stuff you read or watch or listen to that ends up affecting your voice or just moving you somehow?

My raw fuel is, first and foremost, me and my psyche and thoughts and fears and emotions. I mine that stuff on a daily basis. Secondly, since I’m a human being who is in the world, I notice what’s going on around me, but again I only bring it back to me when it’s relevant — like, I had a guy in the South shout to me from his truck that he liked my shoes. It was the greatest example of, in this catcall culture, there are still moments where sometimes a straight guy is just moved to honestly compliment shoes and drive off. I went from feeling threatened by a truck slowing down next to me, to relieved, and then strangely bonded to this bizarre man with his love for cool shoes. Interactions with strangers that truly surprise me, move me. Things that confuse me and confound me make it into my comedy. I’m not great at making things that piss me off into funny standup. When I’m pissed, it will come out more on Twitter and on my podcast.

Do you find bits of material in travel and touring? I’m curious about the degree to which places and audiences blend in or stand out.

Yes. For example, that guy-in-the-South thing happened on tour. But it had nothing to do with touring — I could have been in the South for any reason, like, to say goodbye to the last of the Confederate flags. I don’t ever really remember where odd interactions take place. I travel so aggressively that it’s hard to keep straight where I am. But if I have a woman who follows me around her newsstand at the airport and won’t stop asking me if she can help me find a magazine that suits my needs instead of letting me browse, that’s going to find its way into my act. But it’s not going to be introduced as a road story, because I don’t want to be that person who only talks about traveling — which is tough, because it’s all that I do.

I have to find a way to make some context — and for me right now, I think customer service is on steroids — no one can leave anyone alone, and small talk is at crazy levels. I used to work in customer service, and in my day we just did the transaction while the customer was able to stand there and entertain themselves with their own thoughts. I didn’t feel a responsibility to entertain anyone or soothe him or her while I rang him or her up. I know they just want to get in and out, and all will be forgotten in five minutes. But these days, I go into coffee shops at 5:30 a.m., while it’s still dark, with my eyes shut and barely speaking at a whisper, to have a cheerful barista ask me, “How’s your day goin’ so far? Big plans for the weekend?” What day? It’s dark out. Read the room, buddy. I don’t need a friend right now. Just a coffee. And I’ll tip you really well, too. Somewhere there’s a giant middle-management bunker filled with idiots who write scripts for their employees: “It’s really important to ask people How Their Day Is Goin’ So Far with a folksy accent. People love it!” And I’m here to say that no one loves being interrogated. We just want the coffee. It’s OK to be pleasant and vague. You know you don’t care what I’m doing this weekend, and I’m sorry some idiot behind the scenes is making you ask.