Sam Morrison recently got mugged. His attacker said, “I have a gun, give me the phone.” Morrison said no, and—as he tells the audience at—“I know, isn't that funny? I know we just met, but I think we can all agree that was off-brand. I’m an anxious, asthmatic, gay, diabetic Jew. We’re not known to excel in moments of crisis. If you ask me for my phone charger right now, I'd be like, of course, just take the whole phone. If you’re looking for the nudes, they’re under ‘Israel Trip 2012.
As theater prepares to rumble into its Tony season full-gear, Morrison’s is the best new show in New York right now: a whip-crack 65 minutes, beautifully told, sharp, moving, and truly laugh-out-loud, doubled-up, head-thrown-back funny. The title is a multiple play on words—referring to managing diabetes, his attraction to older men, and the ongoing grief he feels over the death of his most-loved “daddy,” his partner Jonathan .
Morrison has comedic charm in spades, and then in quieter moments, his voice quieter and cracking, your heart goes out to him. And then… the laughs and joke-packed storytelling begin again. Being in a gay grief support group has been helpful in so many ways, he says, not least because Morrison—daddy-lover supreme, around a lot of grieving older men—is in daddy heaven. He’s having so much sex. If he’s a “gay club seven,” he’s a “widow support group 12,” he says.