Good bye, The Chris Gethard Show. You meant a lot.

HISTORY

Last Friday I watched the final Chris Gethard Show. It was live streamed as part of a grand reopening for UCBNY. And it was beautiful.

I’d been a fan of TCGS for a little over a decade now. I had just turned thirty, moved to a new state, got a new job, had one friend in that area, and wasn’t sure what I should do with my life. I never expected to make it that far. I always assumed my brain would have killed me by then.

I wish I could tell you about the first time I watched The Chris Gethard Show or heard about it, but I can’t. I have no clue how I found out about it. My best guess would be a Splitsider or AVClub article. And I have no memories of the first episode I watched.

I know what initially drew me to it. The live, public access part. I had always loved that. Wanted to be a part of that, but I was raised in rural Indiana where I was lucky enough to have an A/V Club in my school that did morning announcements via videos but not cable.

However, I was close enough to Chicago that we got their programming. This was the 80s and 90s before streaming took over. Chicago has a rich history of DIY, local, weird television. Wild Chicago, Svengoolie, The Bozo Show, etc. Close enough to the rag-tagged-ness of cable access that I acquired an appreciation for the style.

What I truly loved about TCGS and specifically Chris Gethard was his willingness to be himself, in the moment, at any given time. To be vulnerable, crass, angry, happy, whatever. He followed himself fully or so it seemed.

And threw all his public emotions, he was the ringmaster. Or maybe more the the catalyst. He sat in the middle of the comedic hurricane while everyone performed around him.

I could relate to that as an introvert. I have a love of observation over interaction. He could do both. When he was strained, he acknowledged it. He didn’t sit in silence. Though sometimes he did. His hands rubbing his eyes.

I think this was partly because it’s how he dealt with the chaos. Partly, I believe, it was for comedy. Similar to Conan commenting on a flopped bit. For Gethard, the bit hadn’t flopped. There was no bit. It was only him and the moment, and they might be flopping. He needed to tell us about it and laugh.

MENTAL HEALTH

This show was the first time I heard mental health discussed so openly and without kid gloves. They said it. They said they were depressed. They said they struggled with it. They said they had anxiety. They said they were having a hard time. Here, we can laugh at it but not at the person. We know that mental health is real but it’s also dumb. We believe you, but we can’t believe that mental health had the gale to show up.

I fell in love with that. I was depressed. I didn’t think it was serious though. I thought I could fight through it. That’s what I was taught. Many boomer parents believed that. Seeing someone or being put on medication was for someone who was already insane. That wasn’t me. I just had to muscle through it.

Ultimately I couldn’t do that. I ended up on Lexapro a few years later. Still watching Christ Gethard. It made it easier because they were struggling. They were taking medication. But they were still creative. They were still enjoying life. Even more so. Chris talked about his fear of taking something and it changing him. Making him less funny.

I wasn’t a comedian, but I was creative. I felt that fear too. Would I be boring if I started? No, it made him better. He was happier and even more productive. I was less afraid when I swallowed that first pill.

PUNK

I was a punk. Well, late to the game punk. I listened to oldies and country music growing up. That’s what my parents liked so I didn’t have access to anything else. Junior year of high school I heard Nirvana for the first time. It changed my life.

I was bleaching my hair, dying it blue, letting it grow out and fade into this mossy green and orange patchy look. I started a band. It turned into a noise band. I just made sounds. I always felt like my music didn’t fit. It was chaos and performance. Really only alive on stage.

TCGS was chaos. It was punk. It was noise. It was still comedy. Maybe the most wonderful comedy I’d experienced. Character after character coming out and doing weird bits that they held onto for way too long. So long that it was funny again. Maybe always funny.

LAST ONE

That’s what this last show was. A new character with a new bit coming out whenever things hit a lull. They never left the stage. They just kept coming. Crowding out others. Bits would still be there in the background or abandoned because they had been ignored. New bits emerged. Who was doing what? It was chaos.

And Chris sat there, in the middle of it, just watching his friends make something that would never be seen again. He was still the quiet ringmaster at the center of a hurricane made of clowns, elephants, and every other bit of the carnvinal.

I turn 41 tomorrow. I started watching The Chris Gethard Show just as I was turning 30. I didn’t know it but mental health, a failed engagement, abusive partner, debilitating chronic pain, and several deaths was in my future. It was chaos. It was madness. It made no sense. It was life. And I knew I could sit there in the middle of it and still laugh. Still enjoy it. Still be sad, mad, happy, a failure, a success, and back again.

I knew I could do it because Chris Gethard could do it.